A Stir of Blood
by Lucifer's Garden
Summary: Last night, Yuna's father was attacked by an assassin, but the mission failed. With two bullets in his back and lost at sea, the hitman is presumed dead. That is, until the next morning, when Yuna finds him somehow alive in the hospital and in her care.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own FFX, its characters, or anything affiliated with it.** It all belongs to **Square Enix.**

This is roughly based on the Bourne Identity movie (which is awesome), and is a Yuna/Tidus centered fic, with action! Mystery! Intrigue! Aliens! Well, no, not aliens. But that would be cool. I don't want the pressure of a fixed schedule ruining the fun of writing this, so I'll only be chipping away at it during whatever free time I have that will not be devoured by homework, studying, and a social life. Keep in mind I'll be heading off to university next fall (eek) so that will also affect my writing time. So bear with me! Enjoy!

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_**A Stir of Blood**_

**Chapter 1**

Father and daughter stood awkwardly before each other near the helicopter pad, neither quite knowing what to say. Braska, no longer a young man, was feeling the heat of Marseille in the middle of the afternoon. He insisted on wearing heavy, expensive suits no matter where he went. His forehead glistened, and small rivulets were running down his neck. Yuna had grown accustomed to the weather since moving from Paris a few years earlier.

The young woman chewed her bottom lip, a habit she inherited from him. "You're sure there's nothing to worry about?" she asked, not for the first time. A flicker of a genuine smile appeared on Braska's lips. Something she hadn't seen in a while.

"Everything is fine, _cherie_. I told you, I got him. You were there, remember?"

"But they never found the body," she quickly reminded him, shivering at the memory. "How do we know he didn't wake up and swim to shore?"

He actually managed a small laughed at that. "If you keep worrying like this you'll get more grey hairs than me."

"As though that could ever happen," she said with a slight grin. She had missed their friendly banters. He pulled her in for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. Awkward tension or not, it was suddenly not so difficult to remember the closeness they once shared.

"Well, just be careful. Keep Arnaud with you at all times," she ordered, glancing emphatically at her father's long-time bodyguard, who nodded back in response near the helicopter.

"I will," Braska assured her. "Now let me get out of here and back to sensible Paris climate, will you?"

On impulse, Yuna went up on her toes to plant one final kiss on his cheek. "Be safe."

Then she watched him climb into the chopper and stood there until it was off and disappearing into the horizon. A chauffer offered her a lift home, but she politely declined and decided to walk. She was not famous enough in Marseille to need such luxuries. After all, she had changed her last name so that her co-workers and peers would not realize who her father was. She wanted no special treatment, and kept her visits with Braska as private as possible.

She loved Marseille. It was so easy to feel at ease while walking down the ancient streets, stained gold and brown with time and perpetual sunlight. Paris was lovely, but Marseille had the laid-back, comfortable atmosphere Yuna had been lacking while growing up. When her father told her she could go to med school anywhere in the country, she knew instinctively she would end up in the south of France, where her mother was from. Having lived there for over three years, Paris seemed like another lifetime ago.

A merciful breeze picked up, sweeping in off the harbour to dull the heat of summer. While watching her sandals plod softly on the pavement, her mind wandered back to the incident last night.

She had been warned long ago that politicians were often made targets of assassination attempts, but she had never imagined her father could be one of them. It simply did not occur to her that someone found him a big enough threat to feel the need to kill him. Even though he was running for the Prime Minister of France, he was still just Braska LaRoche in her mind, a man who never learned how to do his own laundry and enjoyed American sitcoms while eating dinner.

The two of them had been out sailing in the boat he had give her as a graduation gift – an activity that usually helped break the thin layer of ice that would return to separate them between visits – when it happened. Night had fallen, and the two of them retreated into the cabin to have a bit of wine and catch up on things. Yuna wasn't sure if it was exhaustion, stress, the Merlot, or a combination of all three, but it was not long before she was fast asleep.

Two gunshots had awoken her with a start. Spilling her wine, she had run up to the deck and saw her father standing alone at the edge, a pistol gripped in his hand. He had made it a habit to carry a personal firearm, but as far as his daughter was concerned, he had never needed to use it before that night. She hadn't caught a glimpse of the assassin, but Braska swore that he had got the man twice in the back and sent him over the rail.

Yuna had been so shaken up, more so than her father, that they headed back to shore immediately and made arrangements for Braska to be airlifted out of the city as soon as possible. Bodyguard or not, she would only rest easy when he called her and told her himself that he landed safely.

It struck her as odd that the closest they had come since her mother died was after he had nearly been killed. She shook her head and began the trek back to her apartment to get changed for work.

Later that evening she made her way to the hospital to do her rounds. She was only an intern, not finished med school yet, but she and a few other students were allowed to see patients under supervision and help out in any way possible as part of the training program. Regardless of her father's wealth and stature, Yuna did not feel that she was above honest, hands-on work. She loved her job, and felt entirely prepared to handle the unpleasant tasks that would inevitably accompany it.

In the staff locker room, she was shrugging into a white coat when her friend Lulu came in. Lulu, an unfairly beautiful woman with long black hair and eyes that were so brown that they nearly looked red, had graduated from med school two years ago, being a bit older than Yuna. She was a good source of information and never failed to help Yuna prepare for an exam.

"Can you head to the ER?" she asked, slightly breathless from a brisk walk down the halls. "A man just came in with some bullet wounds and Isaaru needs a hand, but I'm on my way to deliver a baby."

Yuna nodded eagerly. "Of course, go ahead. Is he a patient of ours?"

"No, someone found him floating in the harbour just now," Lulu explained on her way out the door. "You'd better hurry, he's in rough shape."

Yuna felt a coldness grip her then. She felt the blood drain from her face and had a powerful need to sit down suddenly. _Two gunshots had awoken her._

She managed to make her legs carry her to the ER, where Dr Girard was already washing his hands in preparation for surgery. Yuna's eyes landed on the still figure on the operating table, a man in a black diving suit. She saw blond hair and skin that looked like it was supposed to be bronze under the deathly pallor. A few nurses were cutting up and peeling off the suit, gently turning him onto his side. One of them was placing a mask over his mouth and nose.

Slowly Yuna walked the table, ignoring the nurses darting around her. There were two clean holes, one in his lower back and one just beneath his right should blade.

"Do we have a name?" she asked, somehow managing to speak around the lump in her throat.

"No, there was no identification on him. The police are already doing a search," Isaaru answered, pulling on a set of latex gloves. "Hurry up, will you?"

Struggling to calm herself, Yuna went to the washbasin to clean her hands, rubbing methodically all the way up to her elbow. Between the fingers. Top of the hands. Don't forget the wrists. Her mind was racing, but somehow her body managed to follow the routine without guidance. Mostly she was only expected to observe the procedure and take mental notes on it, but it never hurt to be prepared to help out.

"The wounds don't look too deadly," she heard herself say, drying her hands. "Any vitals hit?"

"No, but he's got hypothermia, and I can't say how long those bullets have been in there. He was unconscious when a fisherman grabbed him," Isaaru replied busily, waiting for the anesthesia to knock the man out for sure. Just because he was out cold now didn't mean he wouldn't wake up in the middle of having a sharp instrument stuck in his back.

More than anything, Yuna wanted to call Auron, her father's ex bodyguard who had to quit because of a heart problem a few years back. He remained a close and affectionate friend of the family's, having been there to help keep everything together when Yuna's mother died. He always seemed to have all the answers and was never short on advice.

The assassination attempt was kept private, as only she and Braska were witnesses, and she hadn't even really seen anything. Braska felt that it was not important enough to alert the media, where the story would most certainly become sensationalized and blown out of proportion. There was no one she could talk to about this.

As Isaaru started to remove the first bullet, Yuna's eye caught something strange on the back of the man's neck. At first she thought it was merely a glint off his hair, but when she looked again she realized it was something metallic gleaming at of the base of his skull.

"Wait," she said, leaning forward to brush the hair aside and get a better look. It appeared cylindrical, almost like a tiny bullet, and the skin around it was red and raw with fingernail marks as though the man had been clawing at it. Frowning, Yuna dug in with the tweezers and carefully maneuvered it out of the man's skin. It was indeed small, no bigger than half the size of her pinky. On one side, the word SIN was engraved in capital letters.

"What do you suppose this is?" Yuna asked. The doctor shrugged.

"Who knows? We can give it to the police later. It doesn't look like any bullet I've seen."

Yuna suddenly noticed a flash of red on the floor by her foot, where Isaaru and the nurses couldn't see. The metal object was sending out a laser image that had only appeared when she squeezed it, moving wherever the tip of the object was aimed. She glanced down and saw bright neon letters and numbers burned into the tile.

ACCOUNT NO. 122-389-476

1120 PARADEPLATZ, ZURICH

She stared at the words blankly, wondering what on earth this man was doing with a Swiss bank account number lodged in his head. Discreetly, she looked at the metal object and squeezed it again, making the message disappear. She was about to put it on the trey where the bullets were to be placed, but instinct told her that this was far too big to let go of so easily. For a moment she hesitated, gazing at the unconscious man on the table. She could not make out his features under the mask that obscured half of his face, but there was something inside of her that told her he was the one who tried to kill her father. It seemed to add up so easily in her mind that it left little room for doubt. She was looking at a hired killer.

When she was sure nobody was looking, she pocketed the metal object and went about cleaning up the operating area. It was a quick procedure, relatively easy. In a while the man would be moved to ICU and someone else would take over his recuperation. Maybe if she was persistent she could request to look after him herself. She wasn't sure exactly what she wanted to do – turn him over to the police, confront him, tell her father – but she felt with an unshakable certainty that she was linked to him.

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Barely an hour later, Yuna found herself in a closed off room in ICU, staring down at the face of the man who should have been dead, according to the other doctors. He was better looking than she had expected. His skin was not so pale now, and she could see that he was used to the sun. She wondered vaguely where he was from. Where do hitmen call home? His colouring suggested that he had dark eyes, though his blond hair hinted otherwise. Someone had dressed him in a blue hospital robe, and through the thin material she could see a toned, muscular form. He was tall, with broad shoulders that promised strong arms to match. His face was youthful, suggesting that he probably wasn't much older than herself, but it was hard with experience, a strong jaw and proud nose showing a stubborn streak hiding away somewhere.

Yuna began moving around the room to look busy, straightening the blankets, closing the blinds, checking the monitors to see if his vitals were in order. Everything seemed fine – all she could really do was wait until he regained consciousness.

The metal object in her pocket seemed unbearably heavy all of a sudden. She realized that she could get in trouble if she was caught with evidence like this, but all she wanted was a bit of leverage to get him talking. If she threatened to turn over the account number to the authorities – surely they would want to know what kind of things a criminal would hide in a bank vault – perhaps she could persuade him to answer her questions. Why did he try to kill her father? Who hired him? Who else was involved? When she was finished with him, then she would turn him in. Simple as that. Just a few questions.

She had no idea what she was doing, really. But if she thought about it any harder, she would chicken out and the whole opportunity would be wasted.

For a while she tried to keep herself occupied, to have an excuse to be in the room alone with him, but when it seemed that he was not going to stir anytime soon Yuna allowed herself to drift off and get some coffee.

She walked into the staffroom and found Lulu already there with a fresh pot.

"How is your patient?" she asked, bright-eyed from another successful birth. Nobody knew how to handle deliveries like Lulu. "Is he going to make it?"

"Oh, probably," Yuna answered quietly, getting a mug for herself. "Nothing terribly serious aside from a bit of hypothermia."

"Any idea who he is?"

"None," Yuna shook her head, feeling her palms sweat slightly. "And nobody's been asking for a diver with bullet holes in his back. No girlfriend, wife, or parents have called in."

Lulu shrugged and poured coffee for the two of them. Yuna cleared her throat and tried to act casual. "So, uh, how did the baby turn out?"

"Perfect, healthy, beautiful," Lulu supplied with a smile. "Going to be a real looker one day."

Yuna attempted a weak smile. "That's nice."

Lulu honed in on her immediately. "What's the matter? You look a little odd."

Yuna downed her coffee, ignoring the scalding heat, and quickly headed for the door. "I'm fine, just have a lot of work to do. I'll see you later."

"Hey, come out for drinks with us tonight," Lulu called after her. Yuna waved back vaguely in acknowledgement before disappearing around the corner.

Her heart was racing as she made her way back to ICU. She should have known better than to try and hide from Lulu, who had razor sharp intuition. Yuna had always known she was a terrible liar, particularly if caught in the act. According to her friends and father, she had a face like an open book.

By the time she made it back to the room, her pulse had slowed and she was able to breathe normally. She opened the door and closed it behind her, not wanting to let people see into the room as they walked by. It was likely she would need a lot of privacy if the man woke up.

Yuna turned to check the man's vitals again and froze, her stomach twisting into a knot.

The bed was empty.

She whirled around to head for the door, but a tall, solid figure was blocking her path, standing remarkably close to her. Dimly she saw blond hair and dark skin. She had been wrong about his eyes.

They were a bright, terrifying shade of blue.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for all the reviews! I'm glad to be getting a positive response. Enjoy chapter 2!

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**Chapter 2**

His eyes opened slowly, blearily. There was white all around him, blinding – he winced, pain shooting through his head and back. He lay still, hoping it would subside, but it didn't. His arms felt heavy, and he was almost too afraid to try and move his legs. Experimentally he wiggled his toes and fingers. Everything seemed in order. He turned his head slowly, biting through the agony, to look at a series of computer screens and tubes connected to him. He recognized a heart and brainwave monitor, but little else.

It occurred to him in a sickening rush that he had no idea what happened, where he was, or what his name was. His heart monitor showed a rapidly escalating pulse.

_Think. Think._

Beyond regaining consciousness a moment ago, he couldn't recall a single thing. He guessed that he was in a hospital, but in what city? What country? Why? What happened to him? And who the hell was he?

He tried to calm himself down, but he could feel the onslaught of panic. If he got too excited the monitors would start beeping loudly and a nurse would come to him – didn't he want that? Some niggling internal voice was cautioning him, warning him against drawing attention to himself.

_Stay invisible._

Who had taught him that? It felt like an integral part of him, a mantra. He felt it resonate deep in his bones, something he knew he had to obey. He must not be seen.

_Get up._

He sat up, refusing to faint. The pain was bearable. Pain is always bearable. He disengaged himself from the tubes hooking him up to the machines, glancing at the door to make sure nobody would be coming in. It was closed, but he had no way of knowing how long it would be before someone came in to check on him.

Forcing his leg muscles to obey, he made his way to the window and peered through the blinds. He saw a beautiful city, old architecture, likely French or Spanish. He had no idea how he was able to make that deduction. He knew he was 6'1 and weighed 183 lbs. He knew he could run at top speed for four miles before needing a rest, even just to slow down. He knew that he could hotwire and drive any of those cars down there parked at the curb.

How could he know things like that and not even know his own name?

_Don't panic. Not yet._

He took a deep breath and decided to step out into the hallway. Maybe there was an exit stairwell, or an elevator.

His hand was nearly on the doorknob when it suddenly turned from the other side. As the door swung open he quickly moved behind it, not consciously thinking to do so. The reflex to be hidden simply kicked in. He was on full alert and didn't even know why.

A doctor walked in, a young woman. He caught a quick glimpse of her profile as she walked by him. She was probably just an intern, judging by her age – hardly older than he was, it seemed (which was how old, exactly?). She had shoulder length light brown hair that would look almost blonde in some lights. Her skin was fair, but from behind he couldn't tell anything else about her. She shut the door, oblivious to his presence at her back, and moved towards the bed. It only took her half a step to realize her patient wasn't there.

She didn't call out a name. She didn't calmly look around or check the adjacent bathroom. Instead, she whirled around and made as if to run for the door. A normal doctor would not react this way with a normal patient. In a second, the young man figured out that there was something about him she feared, perhaps enough to raise some kind of alarm.

He took one step sideways and blocked her, letting her see him for the first time. She nearly collided with him, but froze just short of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he made note of the fact that she had two different coloured eyes. Her right eye was green, the other blue. Her small, doll-like lips formed a shocked 'o', and her skin seemed to whiten even more.

Before she could make a sound, his arm shot out. He grabbed her by the throat, hard enough to keep her from shouting, but not so hard that she couldn't breathe.

"Don't scream," he warned her, realizing for the first time that he was speaking English with an American accent. "Don't move a muscle, understand? I'm going to let go now."

He released her and she made an immediate dash for the door, trying to dart past him. Faster than he realized he could, he grabbed her and slammed her up against the wall, louder than he meant to. Someone might have heard that.

_Why am I doing this?_

"I don't want to hurt you," he told her, forcing her to look him in the eye. One hand had her by the neck, the other pinned an arm behind her back. "I really don't. But I can't let you go running off just yet. Do you know my name?"

He relaxed his hold enough so that she could shake her head. She wasn't crying, but he could feel her shaking violently. "Do you have any idea how I got here?" he asked, trying to keep his voice gentle. She licked her lips and tried to swallow.

"You were shot," she gasped, speaking English with an exquisite French accent. "Twice, in the back. Someone found you floating in the harbour. You were unconscious when they brought you in."

He tried to visualize it, but his mind was still drawing a blank. He frowned, unable to grasp the idea of someone shooting him, or why. How did he end up in the harbour?

"What city is this?" he demanded.

"Marseille."

More strange pieces were being added to a puzzle that didn't even fit to begin with. He was certain he was American; what was he doing in France, floating unconscious in the water with two shots in his back?

"Please let me go," she whispered, pulling him away from his musings.

"Not yet. First you need to get me out of here," he told her, pulling her away from the wall. "Take off your coat."

He pushed her towards the bed and barred her path to the door. Her eyes moved around the room as if looking for another way out, much like he had himself a few minutes ago. When it became clear that there were none, she sighed shakily and removed her white coat, placing it on a chair. Her jeans and light cashmere sweater would ensure that she wouldn't stand out too much.

When she was done he came forward and grabbed her by the arm, locking it with his own. "We're going to walk out of here," he told her in a firm, authoritative voice. "And you are going to escort me until I get some clothes and a ride out of town. If you scream, or try to run, or lead me into a trap I will break your arm. _Comprenez-vous_?"

He hadn't realized until then that he could speak French.

Wordless, shaking, she nodded. It did not escape his attention that she was not questioning him. She was not asking him why, what was he afraid of? It was as if she knew something about him was dangerous, worth listening to and obeying. He felt slightly unnerved by that. What did she know that he didn't?

They moved out into the hallway. "No eye contact," he warned her as a nurse was walking by. "If someone asks, tell them you're helping me stretch my legs."

She jerked her head once, keeping her face down. The nurse did not notice them, busily reading something on a clipboard. Silently, the two of them made their way to the end of the hall where he noticed a staff locker room.

"In here," he ordered, pushing her closer to it. She reached for her ID card with a free hand and swiped it through a staff monitor, automatically unlocking the door. He closed the door behind them and let go of her arm. "Sit over there."

She sat down on a bench, some distance away from the door. If she made a run for it, he would have time to catch her before she made it to the hallway. He allowed himself to walk a few feet away to examine some of the lockers that weren't padlocked. After a bit of digging he found a man's set of clothes that looked like they might fit. He pulled on a pair of brown slacks and a dark blue t-shirt. Aside from being slightly too large (the pants came with a belt, thankfully) they suited him fine. The shoes didn't fit, but he took the socks and stuffed them in his pocket for later. He grabbed a pair of hospital slippers that appeared to be roughly his size. Checking the soles, he determined that he would be able to run with a fair amount of ease. He could always kick them off if they slowed him down.

"What's your name?" he asked the young woman. She was still crouching in the corner, her back turned to him, silent. "_Comment s'appelle-vous_?"

"Yuna," she said quietly, her eyes downcast.

"Listen, Yuna; I'm going to let you go as soon as I can get a car, okay? This will all be over soon," he assured her, keeping his voice as light as the circumstances would allow. She turned and looked at him sharply.

"And go where, exactly?" she demanded, a hard edge to her voice. "You don't even know your name. _Dites-moi,_ where do you come from?"

That stopped him. He hadn't really planned the next step. All he had been focusing on was how to get out of the city.

"I'll figure that out later," he shrugged, crossing the room and pulling her to her feet. She was staring at him oddly. "What?"

"You really do not know anything? Do you not remember?" she asked tentatively, searching his eyes. Uncomfortable all of a sudden, he looked away. She seemed to look right through him.

"No," he replied. "I don't. I have no idea."

She kept watching him, reading his face as though she was debating something. He cleared his throat and took her arm again. "Let's go. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I can let you go."

"You don't even know why you are running," she pointed out, allowing him to lead her back into the hallway. She had perfect English.

"Do you?" he inquired sharply, puzzled by her words. "Because if you do, I would love it if you could fill me in here."

She turned her face away and said nothing. He sighed and urged her forward. "Let's go down the stairs."

They made it to the ground floor without running into anyone. The man could see Yuna looking around the reception room for a familiar face, and allowed himself a small sliver of relief when disappointment flashed on her face. She was like an open book.

Outside, he had to squint in the bright sunlight to keep his head from splitting with pain. It was hot, and he was glad for the t-shirt suddenly. Yuna did not seem to feel the heat at all. "Keep walking. We'll go around the block."

He could feel her tense up, as if waiting for an opportunity to break free and run. Warningly, he tightened his grip on her arm. "I promised you I'd let you go," he reminded her. "Just a little longer."

"Am I to believe you will simply let me run off to tell the police that you attacked and kidnapped me? Threatened to break my arm and then stole from the hospital?" she asked, gesturing with her free hand at his newly acquired clothes.

He kept staring ahead. "I said I would, didn't I?"

She eyed him for a moment before shaking her head incredulously.

After they turned the corner he began scanning the road for a car he could hijack. He didn't know what it was that was driving him so fiercely to get out of town and lie low – like Yuna had said, why was he running? Why the fear of being exposed? Exposed of what? He knew he was going to go crazy if he kept asking himself all these questions, but his mind was geared forward.

They came upon a fairly old red Buick that was parked illegally in a handicap zone. Casually he let his eye roam the front window, and noted with interest that it was unlocked. He stopped and pulled Yuna in front of him, pretending to be looking at something in her eye. He tipped her head back and glanced over her shoulder to check the inside of the car.

"People just leave their cars unlocked on a public street?" he asked, not really directing the question at her. She shrugged and allowed him to hold her face up. She wasn't shaking anymore.

"This is France," she said, as though that explained everything. He smiled a little.

"Okay," he said, abruptly letting her go. She stood still for a moment, as if unsure whether or not she believed him. He pulled open the car door casually, casting a quick eye about him. "Take care of yourself, Yuna."

She opened her mouth to say something when a gunshot suddenly exploded down the street.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all for reviewing! Kind of a short chapter, but it's more transitional than anything. I wanted to introduce a few other characters for a change. The next chapter should be longer. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 3**

A knock at the door brought Seymour's eyes up from his paperwork. His assistant – he could never remember the man's name – inched his way into the office, an unusual apprehensive look on his face. Normally the guy could never stop smiling. Seymour knew what he was going to say before the words came out of the young man's mouth.

"He failed?"

The assistant nodded. Seymour sighed. This was certainly a first.

"Where is he now?"

"Unfortunately, sir, we lost contact. Something interfered with his transmission."

"And Braska?"

"Landed in Paris two hours ago."

Gritting his teeth, Seymour stood up and made his way out into the hall, flanked by the assistant. "I don't understand," the young man was saying, half jogging to keep up, "why he wouldn't have checked in. They always check in after a mission, don't they?"

Seymour thrust an empty mug towards him, cutting him short. "I need coffee. Find me in the surveillance room."

His tone left little room for complaint. Resignedly the assistant trotted off, mug in hand. He couldn't be older than twenty-five, Seymour figured.

The surveillance room was abuzz with activity. Phones were ringing, computers were humming, printers were spitting out sheet after sheet of paper, fingers clacked away on keyboards, and all the while men and women were scurrying about, completing the chaotic scene. There were maps, charts, flight plans, credit card histories, and passport and driver's license photos posted on every available wall space. A few people were listening to intercepted phone and radio conversations, searching for a familiar voice. There were no windows; this boxed off world was lit only by pale fluorescent lights. Seymour entered like a general walking onto a battlefield. He was completely in his element. He spent more time hovering in this room than he spent in his own house.

"Where are we at, boys and girls?" he asked, addressing the question to everyone within hearing range. There was a momentary lull in activity as heads turned to recognize their chief, the hand that guided them. Then there was a rush as people began shouting out the status of things.

"He last checked in twenty four hours ago, sir!"

"Off the coast of Marseille!"

" – hasn't made any phone calls – "

"His transmission failed at around seven o'clock last night –"

"Impossible," an old, quavering voice said from the doorway. Seymour grit his teeth and looked skyward as if praying for patience. Slowly he turned and plastered a fake smile on his thin, taut lips.

"Mika," he said in a practiced voice. "I thought you were in Belize."

Mika Weber, an elderly man who clearly did not know the meaning of retirement, stretched his mouth in what appeared to be a smile. "We cut the trip short. Charlene missed the grandkids too much."

"What's impossible, sir?" a woman asked from the back of the room.

"The transmission failing," Mika replied, brushing past Seymour with surprising grace for a man his age. "Our technology does not simply stop working or malfunction. The only way for you to lose contact with our man is if his radio is manually destroyed or shut off."

"He wouldn't just turn it off," Seymour said bluntly, no longer trying to sugar coat his voice. It was no real secret anyway that there was no love between the two men. "He understands that we must never cancel contact on each other. All our men know that."

"Probably destroyed, then."

"What if he was captured? Kidnappers could have –"

"He would have committed suicide if caught. Which would never happen anyway."

Arguments broke out, and Seymour rubbed at his temples in agitation. Sometimes he wished he were not quite so surrounded by young people.

"Shut it, all of you!" he barked, startling them into silence. Slightly more relaxed, Seymour turned back to Mika. "He's too good to get caught, and even if he did, he's been trained to take his life before betraying any information. And like I said, he wouldn't voluntarily shut off his transmission."

Mika gave him a somewhat condescending smile. "Well, I'm sure you would know better than I."

"The tracker is still active," a man offered, looking at a map of France on the computer screen. A neon blue dot was pulsing softly on the city of Marseille. "It appears he hasn't left the city yet."

"Good," Seymour pointed at him. "See if you can tap into any cameras and get the satellite over there. I want all eyes on the streets of Marseille. Every move he makes, we'll be watching. If he so much as scratches his ass, I want to know about it."

"This raises a lot of questions," Mika said with a shrug. "None of this seems to fit. Why would our man be alive and not answer our signal? Why would he not check in? Why would he fail in the first place, when he has been trained most diligently not to make mistakes?"

People exchanged uncertain glances, puzzling over this new situation they had become so unaccustomed to.

Then, quietly, a young woman spoke up. "A moment of conscience."

All eyes turned to her, a skinny blonde with green eyes. "Maybe," she continued softly, "he decided to just . . . not do it."

Seymour snorted, breaking the tension. "That is even more impossible than his radio malfunctioning. Young lady, I don't think you realize how thoroughly these men are trained to –"

"Actually," she cut him off, "with all do respect, sir, I was part of the training. I was in charge of analyzing their psychological responses to the conditioning we put them through."

"What is your name?"

"Rikku Welsh."

Seymour raised his eyebrows. "Miss Welsh, I was told that none of our boys had the mental capacity for disobedience or second-guessing after their conditioning. Have I been misinformed?"

The young woman bit her lip. "Umm . . . for about 99 percent of the men we trained, that is true. They obeyed instantly without question. But for the remaining percent, things were . . . slightly more complicated."

"What do you mean, dear?" Mika asked in a kindly voice.

"We found that there were a few men, really only a handful, who had potential to break away from protocol under certain circumstances. These men were removed from the program immediately to avoid complications. But . . ."

"What?" Seymour prompted impatiently. He was not so easily charmed by a pretty face as old Mika.

"This one . . . our guy . . . he showed so much skill that Kinoc ordered him to stay fixed on the team. We'd never seen anyone do the things he could do. Weapons, hand-to-hand, espionage, physical endurance . . . he was like a machine. During the psych tests he showed signs of uncertainty, and had a tendency to ask questions, but when we told him how much we'd be paying him he didn't seem to think too much on it. Kinoc didn't believe that there would be an issue."

"Are you telling me," Seymour interrupted in a deadly serious voice, "that Kinoc allowed this man to stay in training? To be used in _actual_ missions? Even though he _knew_ there was a chance that there could be a problem?"

Rikku looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Umm, yes?"

Mika sighed. "I suppose you'll be wanting a word with Kinoc, then," he said to Seymour, who looked as though the vein in his forehead would burst any second. The younger man ignored him and grabbed the assistant as he came back in with coffee, spilling dark roast everywhere.

"Send another of our boys to Marseille and have that agent taken out. Do you hear me? I want him in a body bag by sundown!"

000

Yuna stood rooted to the spot, unable to flinch when the car window shattered as the bullet passed through it. Had she been standing a bit closer, it would have gone right into her side. In the blink of an eye her companion launched himself forward and shoved her into the alley behind them as a volley of gunshots echoed up the street. People on the sidewalks were screaming as they ran for cover. Yuna's mind was still numb, her body unresponsive. Pieces of brick and stone exploded as the bullets narrowly missed them.

"Get behind that dumpster," he ordered, his eyes scanning their surroundings. Slowly she did as she was told, trembling uncontrollably. She watched as his eyes landed on a homeless man limping hurriedly by. He ran forward and grabbed the man's wine bottle, smashing it against the wall and giving himself a makeshift weapon. The man didn't even stop to protest.

"_Quelle galère_," Yuna whispered, eyeing the red drops of wine falling from the jagged green glass. "What is going on?"

"I don't know," he replied, gripping the bottleneck tightly as he leaned his head around the corner to look up the street. "But he's definitely aiming at me." He ducked back as another bullet whizzed by and took out a brick that would have been on level with his eye had he not moved.

Yuna felt the weight of the metal object in her jeans pocket with new acuteness, and wondered if it had anything to do with her strange friend being shot at. She was torn between telling him about it and keeping it a secret until she could begin questioning him. At first it had been so clear in her mind what she had to do, but after meeting him, speaking to him – seeing that he really had no idea who he was or what happened – things were not so simple anymore.

"He's coming down the street," she heard him say, his voice tight. "I don't see anyone else – I think it's just that one guy."

"With a gun," she whispered, looking down the alley to see if there was an escape. Her heart sank at the sight of a tall brick wall creating an unsympathetic dead end.

"True."

Yuna suddenly felt vulnerable as she heard footsteps approaching around the corner. Desperately she began searching around to find a weapon of her own. She was not very strong, but a few martial arts classes some years ago taught her where to find some of the important pressure points.

"Don't even think about it," he said suddenly, seeing her pick up a rusty pipe that had been sticking out of the gutter. "You stay here, and you stay down. I'll deal with this."

"You might need my help," she countered. It had no escaped her how ironic the situation was. He frowned at her for a moment.

"You could run, you know," he pointed out softly, his voice sounding as though he had forgotten the immediate danger. "I won't stop you."

Something moved over his shoulder. Her eyes flickered briefly to see their attacker take aim, having sidled around the corner silent as a ghost. She opened her mouth to scream, but her companion had already whirled around and thrown the bottle.

It happened so fast that Yuna almost didn't register it. One moment a man had been standing there, gun held at the ready, and the next he was twitching on the ground, a broken bottle sticking out of his neck.

And then reality hit, and a wave of nausea rolled in her stomach. She sagged against the wall. "_Mon Dieu,_" she whispered. "He . . . you just . . ."

She didn't want to faint – she was a doctor, for God's sake - but she could feel that grey nothingness begin to swallow her. The man was saying her name, but she eventually just let herself sink into it. It would be a relief to just forget for a moment what she had gotten herself into. Just for a moment.

He must have caught her before she fell, because she didn't feel any pain when the darkness came.


	4. Chapter 4

The reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you all. Man, it is getting so aggravating calling Tidus 'the man' or 'the blond man' all the time. Can't wait until we get past that.

000

**Chapter 4**

For a moment he could only stare in wonder at the body of the man he had just killed. He barely remembered doing it – he only knew how easy it had been, how effortlessly that bottle flew from his hand and into the man's throat. Such precision, such deadly control – where did it come from? How was he able to do that? When he saw Yuna's eyes flicker over his shoulder, the sudden change in her expression, his mind seemed to have shut down and his body reacted as if a separate entity had taken control. His hands weren't even shaking.

He turned around in time to see Yuna fall against the wall, seconds away from fainting. Before her knees could hit the ground he had already caught her, marveling at how light she was as he hefted her up into his arms. Gently he lay her down, keeping her clear of any offensive puddles. There would be time in a moment for him to decide what to do with her.

Turning around, he went to inspect the body. Nobody was out on the street, not after the gunshots had been fired, and fortunately the police sirens hadn't started up yet. He figured he might have two or three minutes to do some investigating before he had to run.

He crouched down by the man's head and wrenched the bottle out of his neck, tossing it aside and letting it shatter, before getting a closer look at the hitman. There was no familiarity. The man was completely ordinary in the face, with mouse brown hair, pale eyes and forgettable features. His baggy, plain clothes would help him blend in with any crowd, as well as conceal any weapons or instruments he packed along.

The blond man fished through the dead man's pockets and jacket, coming up with nothing. No wallet, no ID, no piece of information that would give away his name or address . . . he didn't even have a set of keys on him. The only thing he had was a gun, which was decidedly a good thing to have at this point.

He picked it up and inspected it. A simple glock, nothing fancy or terribly sophisticated about it. He checked the magazine, grimacing at the fact that there were only six bullets left. Nevertheless, he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans, easily within reach.

Kneeling down, he reached under the man's head to turn him over and stopped, frowning as his hand felt something alien. He rolled the dead man onto his stomach and parted the hair to get a better look at the back of the neck. A tiny, metallic object was imbedded in the skin as if it had been inserted surgically. He tried to pull it out, but it was in so tight that he couldn't get his fingers around it. There was nothing he could use, no tweezers or needles lying around with which to dig it out.

This was beyond maddening. He kept finding bits and pieces of clues, yet nothing added up. Nothing made sense. There were countless questions, and not a single answer. He felt like he was being chased through a maze, encountering dead end after dead end, without knowing what he was looking for or why he was running.

By now the police sirens were gathering in the distance. He grabbed the man's gun and tucked it in his slacks, not knowing exactly if or when he would need it but suspecting that he would later. Standing up, he went to grab Yuna, still not entirely sure what to do with her. All he knew was that he didn't want to leave her alone with a dead body, later to be interrogated by the French police. He owed her more than that. Besides that, she hadn't seemed to eager to part ways with him when they were being shot at. He couldn't shake the feeling that she knew more than she was letting on.

He propped her up in the passenger seat of the Buick, buckling her up before hotwiring the car and bringing the engine to life. Like everything else, instinct guided him. He knew which wires to expose, which ones to pull apart, which ones to connect. He felt at home behind the wheel, the way a sailor feels connected to a ship.

The police pulled up to the alleyway as he disappeared around the corner.

000

Not long ago, someone had hacked into the security cameras just outside the hospital's front entrance. Nearly half of the entire team gathered to see the images being processed on the computer screen, looking for any familiar face. Seymour felt another headache coming on. They were so frequent and so closely tied to the stresses of his job that he scarcely paid any attention to it. But it was going to be a big one. All around him, people had gathered to see if the agent had been found.

"There! That's him," Rikku Welsh said suddenly, pausing the screen and pointing to the image of a good-looking blond man leaving a hospital. "He looks a little beaten up, but it's definitely him."

"Who's the girl?" someone else asked, referring to the brunette walking arm in arm with the agent. "Is she one of ours?"

Seymour shook his head. "I know every face on staff, and she isn't one of them. Lynwood, do some digging on her. I want to know everything there is to know about this girl in the next hour."

A seasoned staff member nodded, having already pulled up the search program on another computer.

Seymour chewed his lip thoughtfully. None of this fit in his mind. After hours of speculating, he was still unable to figure out why an agent of theirs would abandon an unfinished mission, fail to call in and touch base, and then suddenly fall into company with an unknown woman who had no connections to the Network.

The Security and Intelligence Network. SIN. A multi-billion dollar corporation that had been operating in secret along with the United States government since the beginning of the Cold War. It was the only life Seymour knew, the very air he breathed. He had given everything to this company and he still had to deal with screw-ups like Kinoc who could never get the simplest of instruction right. He couldn't wait to get his hands around that fat neck. There would be no satisfying him until Kinoc was fired and shipped off into anonymity, replaced by someone competent. Somebody who understood rules. Somebody with a grain of _sense_.

Well, it didn't matter. In another day, perhaps two, the stray agent would be dead and forgotten. That was the beauty of this job. It was easy to make nuisances disappear.

"Whoa, what's with the gathering?"

Well, most nuisances. Seymour turned and gave Kinoc one of his most unpleasant scowls. The large man took a step back, hands held up as if to repel an attack.

"Steady, pal," he chuckled, his fat stomach wobbling with the action. His squinty eyes nearly disappeared in his smile. "What bug got up your ass today?"

"Tell me, Kinoc," Seymour ground out, gesturing to the screen. "What the _hell_ you were thinking, keeping a faulty agent in the program?"

Incomprehension flashed across Kinoc's round face. "Eh? What are you on about?" His eyes landed on the image of the blond agent, and he suddenly had the sense to look properly grave. "Oh, that one."

Seymour was seconds away from throttling him. "He abandoned a mission – a rather important one – and then refused to check back. He transmission is off and now he's walking around Marseille with some woman who's not affiliated with us. Care to explain?"

Kinoc shrugged. "Like you said. He's faulty. Maybe I should have pulled him out of training, but damn it Seymour, you've never seen a kid like that before. He's unbelievable. Weapons, hand to hand –"

"Yes, we've been already been properly dazzled," Seymour said dismissively. "That's beside the point. You knew he was flawed, and yet you continued to let us use him in mission after mission. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't report you right now for endangering the whole –"

"Oh shut it, Seymour," Kinoc laughed. "You can't get me fired and you know it. Let's just be rational about this, all right? What's our plan of action?"

Seymour ran a hand through his hair, struggling to control his voice. "We sent out an agent to take care of him."

Kinoc snorted. "You've obviously never seen him in action. One man won't be enough to kill him."

Seymour narrowed his eyes. "You think we should just let him walk free? He knows too much. There's a chance he'll talk."

Kinoc shook his head. "I doubt he'll talk, unless he feels threatened. You should have sent more than one guy. That's your first mistake – underestimating him. Hitting fast, hard, and with a lot of agents was probably your best shot. Now he'll be twice as alert, always on the lookout."

Sometimes, on the rarest of occasions, the man _did_ have marginally useful things to say. Seymour grunted. "We'll get him, you can be sure of that."

000

Yuna was reluctant to open her eyes. Part of her knew that everything she had experienced since leaving the hospital did in fact happen, and that there was no way she could deny it. Another, less rational part of her desperately hoped that it had all been some bad dream and that she was at home in bed with the sunlight warming her feet from the skylight above.

"How are you feeling?"

"_Fantastique_," she grumbled, at last forcing herself to face reality. She sat upright and noticed for the first time that she was in a car. A moving car. They were still in the city, but she could see the outskirts drawing near. The sun was beginning to set.

"I thought you said you were going to let me go," she pointed out, though she had to admit she was glad that he hadn't. She still had questions. He seemed to notice the lightness of her tone and gave her an odd look.

"Yeah," he said, suspiciously. "I will. But I have the distinct feeling that you're not telling me something. And in a situation like mine, it helps to get as much information as possible."

Yuna swallowed. Was she really that obvious? His eyes kept darting between her and the road, waiting for a response.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Surely he could hear her heart pounding.

"You're afraid of me," he said. "I guess I can't blame you for that. But even before I dragged you out of the hospital, before we even spoke, there was something about me you felt you had to fear. A regular doctor wouldn't have reacted the way you did if I was just a regular patient. So tell me. What do you know that I don't?"

When she hesitated, he slowed the car down and pulled over, stopping at the curb. He unlocked the doors and gave her a pointed look, staring at her with complete focus.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No," she replied, truthfully. She was careful to keep eye contact.

"Do you know why I was shot twice in the back and left for dead in the water?"

She had to force the word out, struggling to speak around the lie clamped in her throat. "No."

"Yuna, listen to me," he said suddenly, gently taking her wrist in his hand. His skin was surprisingly warm. "I don't know what I did to you that scares you so much, but whatever it is, I'm sorry. I promise you that if something did happen, it won't ever again. Or if you're afraid that I might do something, I swear I won't. Not to you. But this is important. You're lying to me, and I have no one else to turn to right now. I need the truth."

Her mouth went dry and she had to look away. The blueness of his eyes weakened her, the helpless plea making her lose sight of why she was doing this. She needed to be strong. Her father nearly died because of this man. Even if he really didn't know who he was – if he really had amnesia – he was still a dangerous man. She imagined the broken bottle jutting out of that man's neck and shuddered.

But when she dared to look at him again after the silence got too heavy, she found that there was an innocence in him that was just as scared and unsure as she was. Maybe by helping him she could get the answers she needed. If people were out there wanting her father killed, she was going to do everything in her power to find out who they were and how to pull the carpet out from under their feet. To do that, she was going to need this man's help.

She took a deep breath before blurting it out. "You tried to kill my father."

He stared at her. Just _stared_, like he had not heard her properly.

"Last night," she went on, desperate to get the words out of her mouth as quickly as possible. "He and I were sailing out in the harbour. I fell asleep down below and I woke up when I heard two gunshots. My father was on the deck with his gun out. He told me that a man had come aboard with a gun of his own and tried to kill him, but my father fought back and got him in the back as he tried to escape."

The following silence was suffocating. She had kept her eyes out the window, fixated on the pavement, but was painfully aware of his gaze burning into the side of her head. When she finally chanced a look in his direction, he was staring back at her, tight-lipped and pale. She decided to keep going before he had some sort of a panic attack. Quickly she reached into her pocket.

"I . . . pulled this out of you on the operating table. It was in the back of your head."

The metal object glinted invitingly, warm in her palm from being smothered in her jeans. A look of revulsion past over his features. He reached a hand up and felt the back of his neck, his eyes widening when he felt the fingernail marks for the first time.

"The man who attacked us," he said softly, taking the object and staring at it with distant eyes, "had one of these too." His fingers paused over the word SIN.

Yuna's eyes widened. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm an assassin," he said, his voice suddenly calm. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, his body seeming to deflate with the weight of this revelation.

Yuna bit her lip, curiously in pain for this man. She wanted to say something, but was unsure of what words to use. Instead she leaned over and put her hand over his, forcing him to squeeze the object as she had done in the operating room back at the hospital. He jumped slightly at her touch, and then frowned at the red letters and numbers flashing on the dashboard.

"Zurich?" he asked dully. Yuna shrugged slightly.

"We might find some answers there," she offered gently.

"We?" He turned and looked at her sharply. "You want the two of us to go to Switzerland?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"_Absolument_," she said, somewhat defensively. "Someone sent you to kill my father. I want to know who, and why. I deserve to know."

"Isn't this something he should be worrying about, not you?"

"He is my only family," she shot back. "If he were to die, I would have no one left, _monsieur_. I need no other reason." A hard edge had crept into her tone. He seemed to recognize it, but his expression was still uncertain.

"This is dangerous. Somebody obviously wants me dead, Yuna. That guy probably won't be the last to come after me. If you get caught with me, this might –"

"_Assez!_" she commanded, holding her hand up. "I know. I do not care. Just let me go back to my apartment for a moment to prepare. After that, we can drive to Aix-en-Provence and catch a train."

There was a long, drawn out silence in which she refused to meet his gaze, though she could feel him burning holes in the side of her head with his eyes.

"Look at me."

Bracing herself, she did. He leaned forward slightly. "You need to be completely serious about this. There might be a point of no return somewhere along the way. If you are going to get involved, you're in this until the end."

Fighting the nerves that threatened to overwhelm her determination, Yuna gazed back firmly. "If I was not serious," she said, slightly imperiously, "I would have gotten out of this car and called the police by now, no?"

For a long time their eyes held. He was searching her, and she was allowing him to. Suddenly his gaze softened, and he nodded.

"All right. Zurich it is, then."


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you so much for the reviews! Enjoy chapter five, even if it is a wee bit short.

000

**Chapter 5**

"I got you some more coffee, sir," the assistant – whose name was Joshua something – said with as much cheer as he guessed was appropriate. The entire office was crowded around a TV monitor, where a French news station was broadcasting the discovery of a body in an alley, apparently murdered with a broken wine bottle. They all knew who dead man was. And they all knew who had killed him.

Seymour took the cup wordlessly, his steely grey eyes fixed on the screen. He had been silent for the last half hour.

The blonde woman, Rikku, came and stood next to him. "Maybe Kinoc was right," she commented, frowning. "We should have sent more than one. Now the press is involved in this."

"Thank you, I hadn't quite figured that out myself," the older man snapped. "How about you talk when you have something useful to say?"

She rolled her eyes, clearly not intimidated. "Well, maybe we could try to contact him somehow. Send someone to talk to him, see what's going on."

He gave her a withering glance. "You volunteering?"

Rikku gaped at him, astonished. "What? Me? No, I . . . hey, that's not fair! I was just suggesting."

Seymour scoffed at her. "Relax, I'm not sending anyone. That's probably the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard. Clearly, he's no longer our man. Our main priority is to detain him and keep him from exposing us. I don't know what exactly he plans to do, but you can be sure he is no friend of ours anymore."

Rikku shrugged. "Fine. So what are you going to do?"

She stared at his profile. He was gazing intently at the television set, the wheels obviously turning in his mind.

"Lynwood," he said, calling the man across the room at a computer desk. "What do we have on this mystery woman?"

The man stood up and began shuffling through a handful of papers as he headed towards his superior.

"Her name is Yuna Savard, aged 23, currently attending med school in Marseille," he began. "Her family isn't listed, which means she either changed her name or is a single orphaned child. However, we know she is being fed money every month from an outside source. I can't track it, but from the amount she gets, we can assume it's a wealthy relative of some sort. She also works in a local hospital as an intern. Her credit history shows that she's not a big spender, and tends to keep her purchases minimal and rarely anything flashy. No criminal record, and she lives in a fairly quiet part of town."

Seymour took the papers and scanned over them briefly, his eyes lingering on her picture. A pretty girl, in an understated, classic sort of sense. Soft features and somewhat unimpressive hair.

"Well," he said at long last, handing the files back to Lynwood, "since the press is already so keen on this story, why don't we give them something to chew on? Put up posters. I want this woman and our guy's faces plastered all over France. Wire the cops, tell them to keep their eyes opened. When they get nailed, I want one of our people waiting to intercept the arrest and have them brought in for questioning. I don't want either of them leaving the country. Come on, little ones, time to wake up!"

Immediately there was a rush of activity as people began heading back to their stations. Seymour stood motionless, a rock in the middle of a river. People began dialing phone numbers left and right, and a few people were already setting up posters. Two faces were put side by side, the woman and their assassin staring blankly from the computer screens. The word WANTED was typed neatly and warningly under their portraits.

000

Yuna's apartment was not what he had been expecting. The walls were painted bright, vibrant shades of pink and yellow, while the stucco ceiling was lightly washed orange. The furniture looked old, but comfortable, ranging in colours from lime green to a soft, dusty purple. There were wooden shutters covering narrow diamond-paned windows, and all the lampshades were dark, cobalt blue. It was also a mess. There were clothes strewn about the room, as well as magazines, movies, CDs, scattered bits of jewelry, and countless books. The joint kitchen was small and cluttered, its tile floor a dark sea foam green while the cabinets were white and peeling. The counters were the same colour as the floor, and piled high with dishes and cups. There were several houseplants crouching here and there, surprisingly in good shape compared to their surroundings.

A blue-blackish cat was lounging on one of the obscenely bright chairs, opening one golden eye as his owner walked in.

"_Allo_, Kimahri," Yuna said sweetly, scratching him behind the ear. He purred and pushed insistently into her hand. As the blond stranger drew nearer, the cat gave a low, threatening growl that resonated surprisingly deep in his chest. Wisely, the man refrained from petting him.

He didn't know Yuna well enough to judge exactly, but nothing about her character suggested that she belonged in this sort of chaos. She seemed too calm, too collected for it. She noticed his expression and gave an embarrassed sort of smile.

"I did not choose these colours – and the furniture came with the place, but I had no heart to throw any of it away. My landlady is very nice and I do not wish to offend her."

"And the mess?" he asked, grinning slightly in spite of himself. There was an odd sense of security here, a homeliness that could never be touched. He felt more at ease than he had all day, and he sensed Yuna begin to relax a bit more.

"I've never been very organized," she said with a shrug, blushing slightly. "Living alone, I suppose, I never really needed to keep up appearances."

"What about your parents?" he asked, roaming around, looking for family portraits and finding none. He felt her shift uncomfortably behind him.

"My mother is dead," she said, shrugging slightly. "And my father does not visit me very often. And we usually just go out to a café, or out on the boat."

He nodded, noting the strange tone in her voice. "I'm sorry," he told her, because it seemed like the appropriate thing to say. She shrugged again. "Who is your dad, anyway? Must be someone important to have an assassin sent after him."

Yuna looked at him sharply. He knew it was strange to speak of it so calmly, and he couldn't really understand it himself. The whole thing made him feel so numb, as if he couldn't properly register the idea. Perhaps it was simply his way of dealing with things. He found himself wondering how he might have dealt with killing people for a living. The man in the alley had been a matter of life and death, not money. He suddenly found himself wishing he had left him alive for questioning. No matter now, he supposed.

"I don't know if I should say," she confessed. He glanced at her.

"Yuna, we need to trust each other. I'm not going to go after your father again, I promise."

"I know," she said quickly, looking almost apologetic. "Only, he is just so important. He's in a very dangerous, powerful position right now. I haven't told anyone who my father is, not even my best friends. I changed my last name so that people would not find out."

She turned and went into her bedroom to get some things. He followed her, hovering in the doorway. The room was just as disheveled as the rest of the place, but small and comfortable, lit by a golden stream of light from the skylight above. Her back to him, she removed her cashmere sweater to find a new shirt. He averted his gaze quickly, but not so quickly that he missed her pale, flawless skin and lacey white bra strap. French modesty was somewhat of an oxymoron, he guessed, struggling to banish the image from his mind. She pulled on a white camisole and jean jacket before tying her hair back in a loose ponytail with a few errant strays falling around her face.

"Can you at least tell me what he does for a living?" he asked, sensing it was safe to look up at her again. She kept her back turned to him.

"_La politique_."

He sighed. "Figures. He would be even more famous if I had killed him, I suppose."

She shuddered. "Please, may we not talk about my father being killed? It frightens me."

Obligingly, he fell silent. She was a smart packer, taking only a few items of clothes and stuffing them into her bag along with a tiny makeup bag, her wallet (which he saw was quite thick), and a passport.

"I still don't understand why you won't tell him what you're up to. Wouldn't he want to be informed?" he asked after a moment of quiet.

"He has enough to worry about," she replied, moving past him and into the main room. "His job is . . . very demanding."

"You don't think he would find this a little more important than some press conferences? He would probably want to help you out. Maybe hire some investigators, or something."

"He probably already has. But this is something I need to do for myself. I want to help in any way I can."

"Yeah, but this is very dangerous. I doubt he would want his child –"

"What do you want of me?" she demanded suddenly, whirling around and nearly colliding with him. She was so close he could see himself reflected in her eyes. "A reason? You think I must have a reason for wanting to protect my father, the only family I have left? I do not have to explain myself to you!"

He was stunned by her intensity, taking a step backwards. "Sorry," he said quietly.

She visibly relaxed. "This has all been very stressful," she said, her gentle tone returning. "I did not mean to snap. Just let me call some people and we can go. Please, sit. Are you hungry?"

He found that he was starving, and had not realized it until that moment. "I can help myself. Go ahead and make your calls."

She smiled lightly at him and gestured to the kitchen behind her. He wandered in and out of cupboards and poked around in the refrigerator before grabbing a croissant and making a quick sandwich out of it.

"Lulu," he heard Yuna say, dragging the long phone cord with her as she paced around the room. She was speaking in French, and he half-listened as she spoke to her friend. Something about a 'family emergency', 'would you please cover for me at the hospital?' and 'please look after Kimahri'. She chatted for a moment longer before making a kissing noise at the receiver, and then hanging up.

"One more," she said, almost looking hesitant. "I'll be quick."

He nodded, his mouth too full to say anything. Something about her expression told him to pay attention to this one. Her slender fingers slowly dialed the next number.

"_Bonjour, _Auron," she said, smiling slightly, "_ça vas_?"

He finished eating and began clearing away his dishes as she exchanged pleasantries over the phone.

"I was wondering if you could pass a message on to my father," she was saying, still in French. "I'm going to be out of town for a few days – to a cabin with some friends, and I won't have my phone with me. Bad reception out there. Oh, just some obscure place in the mountains. Yes, I will." She laughed suddenly. "No, no skiing! I learned my lesson last time, trust me. Thank you. Goodbye."

She then kissed the receiver and hung up, looking slightly troubled.

"I hate lying to him," she admitted with a sigh.

"Who is he?"

"An old family friend. He stayed close with my father after university."

Yuna quickly wolfed down a sandwich before they locked up and left.

At the Buick, he hesitated before climbing in, opening his mouth to ask her something. She stopped and looked up at him, but at his expression she quickly cut him off.

"If you ask me again whether or not I am certain of this, I will scream at you," she warned him, though smiling slightly. He grinned back before shrugging and getting into the driver's seat.

The roads stretched out and twisted before him, but as Yuna guided him towards the main highway, he allowed his mind to wander slightly. He didn't know what he was expecting to find in Zurich; either the answer to all their questions, or a whole load of new ones to ask.

He knew that it was dangerous to have Yuna with him. For her sake, he should have gone alone, whether he would have found out about Zurich or not. There was a very real possibility that one or both of them could get hurt, if not killed. He reasoned with himself that this was her choice, and he had given her plenty of opportunities to walk away.

Nevertheless, the sight of her in the passenger's seat through his peripheral vision was comforting. If she walked now, he would be left standing alone in the dark – something he found even more terrifying than staring a gun in the face. She was his only friend in the world, his only human connection that didn't seem to want him dead.

If one of them had to die, he prayed that it would be him, and not her. And then he promised it.


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry for the delay, my mom had to borrow my laptop for a few days, with all my chapters stored away on it. Anyway, this is kind of an uneventful chapter – just establishing more of a bond between Yuna and Tidus, which we all love. Enjoy!

000

**Chapter 6**

For the most part, they were silent. Yuna had made a few attempts to make light conversation, not because she was chatty by nature, but because the tension was almost stifling in the car.

Every now and then she would sneak quick glances at him from the corner of her eye, appraising him. She had the sense to realize he was good-looking. France had its share of beautiful people, and she was accustomed to it, but there was a peculiar charm to him that could only be described as innately 'American'. Californian came to mind. Yet in spite of his looks, he carried himself as though he were completely oblivious to it – which was insane. Surely he's had enough women to give him some kind of idea.

_But to have no memory of your past beyond today . . ._

If she thought about it too much, it would distract her to no end. She had to think of something else.

The passing scenery did little to divert her attention as evening descended. The countryside was quickly vanishing in the dark.

"So," she began, realizing he was not going to be the one to start talking. "Do you think there is a family waiting for you out there, somewhere?"

"I don't know," he confessed. "It doesn't seem likely, though, given my profession."

She did not miss the grimness in his tone. "Maybe there is a girl out there doesn't care what you do so long as she's with you."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

More silence. Yuna stole another glance at him, and an idea struck her.

"You need a name," she said suddenly. "Until we find your real one, that is."

He smirked lightly. "What did you have in mind?"

"Blondie."

She was only behaving so foolishly because she felt a severe need to counter all this tension with a bit of fun, strange as the circumstances were. With friends like Lulu and her husband Wakka, who together provided more than enough entertainment, Yuna was not accustomed to such an edgy, serious atmosphere. Father issues and the loss of her mother aside, she was a happy person who liked to keep things light. She was not well equipped for handling awkward silences with strangers (handsome ones), particularly in such a bizarre situation.

He rolled his eyes. "Surprise, surprise. Can't think of anything more original?"

"I use only what you give me. Blondie."

"You are not calling me that."

She grinned and reached out to tug on a spike of shiny gold hair. "Change your colour and we'll see what else I can come up with."

He tensed slightly at her touch, and she wondered briefly if it was just a reflex of his or if he was simply uncomfortable with her. But given his quickness to joke with her, she doubted the latter.

"I'm not dyeing my hair," he said in a mockingly vain tone of voice.

Barely listening anymore, she let her finger trail near his jaw, marveling at its shape as it descended into a perfect neck and into a strong, beautifully structured collarbone. He fell silent and kept his eyes straight ahead, but she had the sneaking suspicion he was watching her as she had been, through the corner of his vision. He was gripping the steering wheel very tightly.

"Well, nothing else fits," she said, quietly now. "Perhaps we will just have to wait."

"Guess so."

She pulled her hand back, suddenly very self-conscious. The touch had only lasted a second or two, but it was enough to make her feel like an idiot. It was not like her to be so bold.

If he could read her thoughts, Yuna knew that he would become very uncomfortable right now. She was being silly and reckless. The day had exhausted her, confused her emotions. She just needed a good night's sleep and a decent meal, and everything would be fine. It helped to tell herself that a few times.

"But we should probably start thinking of disguises," he mentioned, almost like an afterthought. "If we get attacked again, I mean. We might be safe in Zurich."

She nodded, trying to think of something else to say before her mind had a chance to focus on how absolutely flawless his profile seemed all of a sudden. But he saved her the trouble.

"So, how did your mother die? If it's all right to ask."

He gave her a quick searching look to make sure he had not offended her. She blinked and then lowered her gaze. "She died in a fire. I was twelve, and it was summer. My family was spending time at our cabin in Switzerland. There was a gas leak while my father and I were out fishing, and we heard the explosion. My mother had been taking a nap in the bedroom when it happened."

"I'm sorry," he said, appropriately, but also with a note of sincerity. She nodded.

"It was a long time ago."

He gave her a neutral sort of glance, merely to acknowledge her response, and when their eyes met for the briefest of moments, the strangeness of it all hit her.

_You're in a car with the assassin who tried to kill your father, heading to Zurich –Switzerland, for God's sake – to investigate a mysterious bank vault that may or may not answer any of your questions_.

She rubbed her eyes.

_C'est ridicule_.

_But you know why you're doing this, don't you? You think it has something to do with_ her.

She immediately banished that last thought and stared down at her hands, trying to concentrate on how she needed to trim her fingernails. Female doctors didn't necessarily have the right to keep their nails long and ridiculously groomed.

"We should be in Aix-en-Provence in another hour," she said, groaning inwardly at the prospect. Another hour and she would probably drive herself mad.

000

Part of him felt a little sorry for Yuna; he doubted he was a fun car companion. But he couldn't stop his mind from wandering. Her questions about him having a family or a girlfriend only confused him more. It was unlikely that he had either waiting for him, and he suddenly felt very lonely. Yuna had fallen silent again, clearly put off by his monosyllabic responses. He wished he could strike up some kind of conversation, but about what? Music? He had no idea what bands or even what kind of music he liked. Movies? Which ones had he seen? He recognized a few iconic images in his head, like the T-Rex rearing its head in _Jurassic Park_, or Rhett walking out on Scarlet at the end of _Gone With the Wind_, but little else came to mind.

He could talk about guns, that much he knew. And how to mix household chemicals into an explosive compound. But he doubted he could really talk to Yuna about that sort of thing.

It was late by the time they reached Aix-en-Provence, too late to catch a train. Even if they had made it in time, he could see Yuna stifling more and more yawns, fighting to keep her eyes open.

"We'll stay in town for the night," he said. It was the first time either had spoken in quite a while. "Zurich can wait another little while."

She opened her mouth to protest, obviously not wanting to slow him down in any way, but another yawn escaped instead.

"Good idea. There's a small place just a few blocks from here. It's not very fancy, but it's inconspicuous and out of the way," she suggested, gesturing up the street.

"I'll pay you back somehow," he promised, suddenly embarrassed. He had completely forgotten that he had no money. She waved her hand dismissively.

"Please, think nothing of it. It is no trouble at all," she said, sounding like someone for whom money is no real issue.

They abandoned the car in an alley a block away from the hotel, covering the last of the distance by foot. The hotel, a brown two-story building snugly tucked between a bookshop and a café, really did not stand out at all. Had Yuna not grabbed his arm to steer him inside, he would have walked by without ever noticing it. Inside it was dark, musty, and dimly lit. A homely old woman sat smoking behind the front desk, reading a beauty magazine.

He stood silently in the little lobby while Yuna got them a room (wisely paying in cash), trying to ignore the old woman asking whether they wanted two beds or one. She glanced incredulously between them when Yuna politely requested two, as though she couldn't believe they weren't planning on sharing.

Once inside their room on the second floor, Yuna promptly slipped into the bathroom to change, leaving him alone for the first time all day. He sat down on the edge of the bed closest to the door, so that he would be between anyone breaking in and Yuna. He took off his shoes and lay back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. It was a tiny room, with barely any room for two people to move about freely. The kitchenette looked as though it would have trouble holding just one person, and he couldn't even imagine how small the bathroom must be. There were wooden shutters to keep out the light, and a questionable-looking TV set sat in the corner.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Only now did he realize how exhausted he was, how badly he craved sleep. He was crawling under the blankets, coming to terms with the fact that he would have to sleep in his clothes, when Yuna emerged.

Part of him wished he hadn't looked at her, because it suddenly made everything just a little bit more complicated than it already was. She was only wearing a long t-shirt that barely reached her knees, and the collar was so wide and deep that it plunged off her naked, slender shoulder. Her legs were longer than he would have guessed, and with her hair still tied back loosely, he had a perfect view of her long, graceful neck.

She smiled faintly at him and shut off the light in the kitchen, swamping them in darkness. He could hear her move around him to her bed and climb in, and fiercely tried to shut his ears to the sound of her settling in, sighing peacefully.

"Goodnight," she whispered, sounding peaceful.

"Goodnight," he replied, hoping his voice didn't betray him. Thoughts of any potential girlfriend out there seemed suddenly very nerve-racking. He felt more flustered now than when he had thrown that broken bottle into their attacker's throat.

He rolled over and stared into the dark void of the hotel room. Now that he was free to sleep, his mind would not fully allow him to. He could not stop wondering what kind of life he had led before becoming an assassin, unless he had been one his whole life. Where was he born? Where did he grow up? Who were his parents? Any brothers, or sisters?

A while later, Yuna murmured in her sleep, and he tried vainly to push the image of her long dancer's legs from his mind. Why couldn't he have picked a man to help him escape from the hospital? Or at the very least an unattractive girl.

He was fairly certain he had been with a woman before, perhaps even more than one. Somewhere inside his memory there lay an acute knowledge of the female body that one couldn't simply learn from textbooks or adult films. It was a personal recognition, that much he could tell. But who? And when?

_How long has it been?_

When at last he did fall asleep, he was tormented with images of what may or may not be memories. He could not tell what was real and what was simply a dream. There was a man with blue grey hair and steely eyes that kept hounding him, calling out to him but using a name that simply turned into bizarre sounds that made no sense to him. His brain was trying to get him to remember, but the name remained elusive. Then he saw images of a white sail boat, a pool of what could be either blood or wine spilled on a pale carpet –

A hand on his shoulder startled him awake, and on pure instinct his arm shot out and grabbed at his attacker's throat. He pulled down until a body landed on his and he rolled on top, pinning the intruder under him.

He blinked and suddenly realized what he was doing.

"Yuna," he gasped, releasing Yuna's neck. She gasped and threw herself away from him, landing on the floor. "Jesus, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Are you okay?"

She stared at him, massaging her throat for a minute. "I'm fine," she managed.

He ran his hands through his hair, swinging his legs over the mattress to face her. "I'm really sorry. I thought you were – well I wasn't really thinking, it just sort of –"

She stood up and held up her hands disarmingly. "It's okay," she reassured him, trying to smile. He could still see her shaking a little, and felt a wave of shame crash over him. "I probably should have left you alone, but you were talking in your sleep. Sounded like a nightmare."

"What did I say?"

"You just kept saying 'I don't want to' and 'can't do it' over and over again. Do you remember anything about your dream?" she asked, sitting on the mattress a considerate distance away from him. He shook his head after a moment.

"No. Just . . . weird fragments that don't make any sense. I've lost the main part of it," he sighed. "Maybe it will come back to me later."

"Maybe."

He glanced back up at her, his eyes lingering on her throat. His fingers remembered how her skin felt with alarming vividness. "I feel awful – I promised I would never hurt you."

She smiled forgivingly, and his heart twisted strangely. "You didn't know what you were doing. It's okay. Next time I will just throw something at your head to wake you up."

He could tell she was trying to make him laugh, and he suddenly felt a surge of fondness for her. He smiled. "Good idea."

She stood and stretched. "You should shower first," she said, oblivious to the way his gaze traveled down her legs when the t-shirt pulled up. "I probably take longer than you and I don't want to steal all the hot water."

Nodding, he got up and headed into the bathroom, wondering if the water could get cold enough for him to forget the way the sunlight hit her shoulder the way it did.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you all for reviewing!

000

**Chapter 7**

While Yuna showered, her companion had gone around wiping off any fingerprints they may have left in the hotel room. Two days ago, all this would have seemed overwhelming strange to her. Now, everything they did was to avoid 'them'. She did not even know who 'they' were, but she trusted him to know what he was doing, even if it was only based on instinct and precaution.

She looked at herself in the mirror as she stepped out of the shower. At least he hadn't grabbed her hard enough to leave bruises. Yuna checked the skin on her neck one last time in the mirror before exiting the bathroom. She found him sitting patiently on the edge of his bed, glancing up at her as she emerged.

"We need to get you some new clothes," she told him, packing her small bag. She herself had changed into a new pair of jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt. "You will look too familiar. Besides that, you will start to smell."

He glanced down at his mussed blue t-shirt and wrinkled brown slacks, making a face. "You're right. It's nine o'clock right now; do we have time before the train leaves?"

She nodded. "It departs at noon." Her stomach reminded her of the fact that she hadn't eaten anything since early yesterday evening. "We should get some breakfast first."

They checked out soon after (the old woman was there again, staring curiously after them as they left) and went straight to the café next door. Yuna obligingly paid for everything, much to his obvious discomfort. She did not care. Money had never been a problem for her, not that she liked flashing her wallet in front of people.

She watched him sink his teeth into a baguette sandwich, relishing the fact that they were learning small clues about him as they went. Even as a child, she had always enjoyed puzzles and riddles. Anything that posed a challenge intrigued her immensely. She had already made a mental list of all the things she had discovered about him, as though he himself were a puzzle of some sort.

He was quick on his feet – an obvious necessity for any assassin. He was clearly American, perhaps from the west coast. He was sincere, and forthright. He was serious, and rightly so, but he also had a bit of a sense of humour. He was considerate, and well mannered; he insisted on opening doors for her and waiting for her to be seated first, and he did not plainly ogle her even when she was half-naked in front of him (not that she had done that on purpose . . .). He was slightly proud, particularly about the money issue and the fact that she was paying for everything. He didn't snore. And he was a very, _very _light sleeper.

Eventually he noticed her staring at him. He paused sipping his coffee, blinking at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she replied. "You are interesting."

He smiled awkwardly and didn't seem to know how to respond. She was finding it hard not to laugh at his expression. She added 'modest' to her list.

After they left the café, they hunted around for a clothing store. They found a small shop a few blocks away, and Yuna felt strangely excited at the prospect of shopping with him. It was as if she had her own life-sized doll to play with. He didn't want anything flashy and insisted on getting the cheapest clothes possible – for her sake more than anything.

"But what about this?" she begged, showing him a dark blue polo shirt. "It would be perfect for you!" He rolled his eyes at her.

"I'm telling you, I just need a jacket to cover up what I'm wearing. Something with a hood that I can pull up. And maybe a pair of jeans and shoes." He then noticed a rack of sunglasses next to the cash register. "Glasses, too. For both of us."

Eventually she relented and paid for a dark brown hooded jacket and a pair of blue jeans, shoes, and the sunglasses. Apparently, he wasn't much of a shopper. But the jeans did such wonders for his rear end. Even the young cashier noticed, eyeing him appraisingly as the two left the store.

"That was the last of my cash," Yuna confessed as he zipped up the jacket, seemingly indifferent to the heat. "Those clothes weren't _that_ cheap."

He sighed and scratched his jaw thoughtfully. "We have to risk using your card to get more out. There's no way to tell whether or not they'd be tracking your card, but it wouldn't surprise me if they are."

Her eyes widened at the prospect. "They can do that?"

He laughed bitterly. "Yuna, I'm not even sure who 'they' are. It's just a feeling. If they knew I was still in Marseille and were able to get another agent after me on such short notice, I'm guessing there's not a lot they can't do."

Suddenly he froze on the sidewalk, his expression hardening. Yuna stopped and stared at him, instantly feeling uneasy. "What is it?"

"Do you still have that laser pointer?" he asked quietly. She fished into her bag and pulled it out. He had let her hold onto it for safekeeping, as he had no place to put it. He grabbed it and flashed the numbers of the bank account onto the pavement, his eyes scanning the numbers like a computer. Yuna watched, fascinated.

Then he dropped the object and smashed it underfoot. She jumped.

"_Que fais-tu_!" she demanded, lapsing back into French for a moment. He crouched and pried open the cracked body and held up a tiny blinking light with a twisted cord coming out one end, which had been attached to the inside.

"A tracker," he said darkly, tossing it down into the gutter. "Let them think I'm sticking around here for a while."

"How do you know –"

"Because I just do," he cut her off tersely, marching ahead to hail a cab. "I don't know how I know."

She stared after him for a moment before hurrying to catch up. Her heart was pounding. For the first time, she truly realized what kind of enemy they were up against.

000

Rikku had been dozing in the chair at her station when a hand roughly shook her awake.

"Coming, Pops," she blurted out, nearly falling out of the chair. As the remnants of her dream faded, she looked up to see Seymour glaring down at her. She smiled weakly up at him, but to no avail. He was looking markedly displeased.

"You might be interested to note that your computer is flashing repeatedly at you," he informed her with a hard edge to his voice. "Perhaps it would be best if you could keep your wits about you and tell me what it says?"

Blushing, Rikku scrambled back up and looked at the monitor. "It's that Yuna woman's credit card track," she explained. "I'm in charge of keeping an eye on her. And it looks like she just bought two train tickets to . . ."

Seymour leaned in when she trailed off to look for himself. His eyes narrowed.

"Zurich," he growled. "Un-_fucking_-believable. How the hell would he know about Zurich?"

"Maybe he doesn't!" Rikku suggested quickly, trying to appease him before he went Godzilla on the office. Or her. "Maybe . . . she's got friends there and is taking him there to hide out. It could be nothing."

Seymour rubbed his eyes, an all-too familiar sign of growing stress. She found herself wondering how the man had never suffered an aneurism in his long career.

"And besides," she added, "he can't know about the account. The device must still be lodged in the back of his neck. He can't get it out with just his bare hands. How would he even see the numbers?"

"Let's not forget, Miss Welsh, that he is traveling with a trained medical student who might just, oh, I don't know . . . have access to surgical tools?" he said, calmly and coldly. She swallowed. That thought had never occurred to her.

"Just what the hell is in that account anyway? What could possibly be so important that it makes him dangerous?" she demanded, frustrated. Employees her age weren't in on every single detail of their strange, covered-up agency. Seymour sighed heavily through his nostrils.

"That account," he replied, "is where a lot of important information is stored. After an agent takes out a target, we document it, and keep it locked away in the most secure bank system known to man. That account number is stored in the back of the neck to discourage them from ever trying to access it without our permission, unless there's some kind of emergency and they have to go to the account directly, in person."

He started pacing, talking more to himself than anyone.

"The problem is that we no longer have constant surveillance over this particular agent, and we don't know what he's planning. Should he choose to do so, he could use the documents as evidence against us. With that woman in his company, he has a potential witness to help make the case. We're funded privately by government officials, Miss Welsh, and they've given us a lot of freedom to do our job. But there are some things that we need to keep under wraps."

"Like the fact that we use their money to train men that kill certain other men?" Rikku supplied helpfully. He quelled her with a stern gaze.

"They know about that, but as far as they're concerned, it's all off the record, and doesn't put any of them at risk. If we get exposed, they can just cry 'patriot' and pretend to have had nothing to do with all the assassinations," he said with an obvious trace of resentment.

The young woman frowned. "But why do we document the kills in the first place? Aren't we supposed to protect our investors?"

He smiled humourlessly at her. "If we go down, they go down with us."

She paled slightly. "Well, the team should be showing up soon," she pointed out. "Let's get them to the train station ASAP and stop him."

He gave her a somewhat approving look before snapping his fingers at Joshua something.

"You," he said sharply to the assistant. "Get the team leader on transmission and tell him to head to the Aix-en-Provence train station."

Joshua was about to run off and do as he was told when Seymour spoke again. "And let them know that nobody's going home until that agent is dead and buried."

"What about the woman?" Rikku piped up.

Seymour didn't hesitate. "Her too. She's a threat to us now."

"How?"

"By running with him."

000

He was glad to see that the train station wasn't terribly busy. There were only a few people seated in the lobby, and nobody looked up when he and Yuna entered. Nevertheless, he kept his sunglasses on, motioning for Yuna to put hers on as well. The station had security cameras in every corner. Drawing his hood up would only make him look more suspicious.

Now that reality was sinking in that soon he would be in Zurich, he was getting more and more paranoid of the enemy. That great, faceless, nameless enemy that had made a target of him, and now possibly Yuna. He had the distinct feeling that Zurich was forbidden ground, or at least a private answer to a question he was not supposed to ask. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. The bank account numbers were burned into his memory, a beacon for him to follow.

Yuna sat down next to him, nudging him lightly with her elbow. "This is it," she said, obviously excited. "By tomorrow morning we'll be there! We'll go to the bank, see what's inside the account, and after that . . ." She gestured vaguely.

He smiled back, trying to look more eager than nervous. The truth was that he was scared at the prospect. It was all so huge, so sudden. And he was afraid that things were going to get twice as dangerous for the two of them. Sooner or later, his former 'bosses' would figure out that he had removed their tracking device and then they would know he had found out about the account. Obviously they didn't want him to do that – no doubt they would do anything to stop him. He hated the idea of putting Yuna in that kind of danger.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked her. She looked up at him, her eyes inviting the question. "What will you do after all this?"

She furrowed her brows slightly in thought. "What do you mean?"

"Say we get to Zurich, and look in the vault. And say that whatever's inside can be used against . . . well, whoever it is that's chasing us. And let's say that somehow, by some miracle, we manage to take them down, or expose them. That is, if we don't get killed by the time all this happens. What will you do if the danger goes away? If or when there's nothing to be afraid of anymore . . . what next?"

She leaned back in her seat and sighed heavily in thought. "Go back to medical school, I suppose. Continue from where I left it." She turned and looked at him pointedly. "What about you?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It all depends if I find out my name and who I really am, if I have family or a home. I guess I could always start over, if not."

Yuna looked down at her hands. He noticed that she had a habit of doing that whenever she was about to ask something awkward.

"You speak good French," she pointed out. "Maybe you could . . . live in Marseille."

He glanced at her sideways, a smile creeping onto his lips. "And what would I do there?"

She shrugged and rolled her eyes. "I do not know. Drink coffee and smoke cigarettes."

"Eat escargot."

"Wear a beret."

"Make love to all _ze byootiful weemen_."

"The French do not sound like that!" she gasped, affronted. He chuckled and ducked as she swiped playfully at his head.

"I mock only what I see and hear," he said defensively, shielding his face. "And I'm sorry, Yuna, but the accent is hilarious."

She shoved him lightly and pretended to sulk. "At least we understand fashion. Have you seen some of your celebrities? Vanessa Paradis would _never_ dress like your Britney Spears."

The smile died on his lips. "I really don't remember who that is."

She winced. "I am sorry," she said quietly, looking ashamed of herself. "I was not being careful."

"It's okay. You're not responsible for me," he told her, trying to sound light-hearted. He hated that sadness in her eyes.

"Of course I am," she said, looking surprised. "Who else will look after you?"

He found himself grinning again.

"I guess you've got a point."

She beamed at him. "And promise me you will at least visit Marseille if you insist on not living there."

But he was no longer looking at her, nor listening. He was staring past her with a frozen expression, the blood pounding in his ears drowning out all other noise.

On the wall next to the exit door was a WANTED sign. And there were two very familiar faces staring back at him.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Enjoy chapter 8. Things are getting tense!

000

**Chapter 8**

When Yuna saw the look on his face, she turned around in her seat and followed his stricken gaze. Her blood froze when she saw her own picture plastered next to his on a very clearly marked WANTED sign.

"Oh no," she whispered, her heart sinking. "No, no . . ."

"Don't stare at it," he instructed quietly, looking straight ahead. "If we panic now we'll only draw attention to ourselves."

"H-how can they do this? We've only been traveling together for a day, how can they know who we are –"

He grabbed her arm, forcing her to look at him before she started babbling in French. "Yuna, listen to me. We have _got_ to stay calm. Can you sit still and keep your voice down?"

Trembling, she nodded. She realized that she had unwittingly dug her fingernails into his wrist, and quickly released him. He did not react. She sat back in her seat and took a deep breath, trying to slow her pulse.

"How can the police have our pictures? I have no record, and you should not even exist to them," she whispered, fighting to keep from staring at the poster.

He glanced around, his voice grim. "I'm not so sure the police are behind this. But they're involved now, and they're going to be looking for us. We just . . . we have to keep going. Stay hidden as often as possible," he said, more to himself than to her. His eyes landed on an ATM machine at the other end of the station. "You should get more cash out."

She nodded and got to her feet, aware of every muscle in her body. There were cameras everywhere – she knew she had to look casual, innocent. Don't walk too quickly, but don't dawdle. She could feel him watching her back, silently encouraging her.

At the ATM machine, she withdrew as much cash as she dared to carry on her person. Ignoring the few people who were staring at her curiously, she stuffed the euros into her purse and made her way back to her seat. She sat down and saw that his hand was lingering near the gun, concealed under his shirt.

"Good," he told her. "We can do this. Just trust me."

"One of my best friends is a policeman," she replied, her eyes downcast. "He is going to see that poster, and . . . what will he think of me? What about my father, and Auron –"

His hand found hers, squeezing it gently. "It'll be all right. As soon as we get to Zurich and look in the bank vault, you are going to go to the police and tell them everything."

She looked up at him sharply and nearly shouted, "What! _Pour-quoi_?"

"Tell them the truth. Say that I kidnapped you from the hospital and held you hostage. I threatened to kill you if you tried to run. You go to them, you say all this, and they're bound to listen to you. Like you said, you've got no criminal record," he explained.

She shook her head. "I can't do that."

"Yuna, listen –"

"No, _you_ listen to me!" she shot back, struggling to keep her voice down. "Whoever is behind all this wants me dead too. Even if I were to do all that, go to the police and say those things, I would still _know too much._ I'm not safe, and I won't be, until it is done. Dead or alive, we are finishing this together."

He gave her a long, measuring look. "Yuna, there's only so much I can do to protect you, and the longer you stay with me the harder it will be to turn back and save yourself."

She stared back levelly; no way was he going to budge her on this one. He sighed heavily.

"I don't like it. It's against my better judgment, but if you've made your decision . . ."

"I have."

They fell silent, neither daring to the look anywhere near the poster.

Time passed slowly. He kept looking at the clock, counting the minutes as they dragged on. It would be time to board soon – either they would be making an escape, or they would be trapped on board. He wondered if the enemy, the police or his former associates, would be waiting for them on the train. Was it a setup? Was he blindly leading Yuna and himself into an ambush?

The gun in his jeans was a constant presence in his mind. He knew how to handle it, but with only six bullets left in the magazine, the damage would be minimal at best.

Yuna was motionless at his side, staring vacantly into space. She had withdrawn into herself some time ago, tapping into whatever inner strength she had. She was stubborn as hell, he had to give her that. Most people would have run away screaming from a situation like this, but not her. She was operating on more conviction than he himself had, and he wished he could understand why.

"Time to go," he said at long last, standing up. He took her arm in his and guided her towards the boarding platform outside, where a few of the other passengers were heading. She held onto him tightly, keeping her eyes down.

They gave their tickets to the man standing by the entrance to their car, who barely even glanced up at them as they passed. Inside, they made their way down the narrow aisle to find an empty compartment. His eyes roamed constantly, taking in every face they passed. He knew there was no way to know for sure who was an attacker and who wasn't, but he made sure to study each person as closely as discretion would allow. The man flicking a cigarette out the side door could be signaling to others hiding nearby that it was time to move in. The woman typing away at her laptop could have a gun or knife hidden in her coat, and know exactly how to use it. As they moved further down the train, he observed every window, every emergency exit, storing their locations in his memory.

Eventually they came to a vacant two-seated room. It was small, but private. Immediately he closed the door and pulled down the blinds while Yuna silently took her seat. Then he went to the window and felt around the edge, noting with an inward groan that the glass was firmly bolted in place, and it was too thick for him to break on his own. There was nothing lying around that he could use to batter through it. The vent was too small for them to climb through. If they had to make a run for it, they would have to venture out into that cramped, narrow hallway.

Yuna gazed out the window as the train started pulling away. She had taken her sunglasses off, but kept them close at hand in case someone came knocking. Her hair was tied back again.

"I think I should tell you who my father is," she said quietly. He looked up at her sharply. "You have a right to know, I suppose. It doesn't really matter now, anyway."

He watched her, waiting, refusing to rush her on this. "Sure."

"His name is Braska LaRoche. He used to be in charge of the French Ministry of Defence, but earlier this year he announced his candidacy for Prime Minister of France. According to the news, he's . . . quite popular. He is probably going to get elected."

The wind left his lungs all in a rush. _Jesus Christ._ He had tried to assassinate the future Prime Minister of France?

He leaned forward and rested his face in his hands. This was important, he knew, but there were too many missing pieces to complete the picture.

"Tell me everything you can about him. I need to know it all."

Yuna started from the beginning. Her father entered the political scene shortly before getting married. He started off as a campaign worker before he gradually rose up in the ranks, eventually gaining enough momentum to land at the top of the Ministry of Defence. His main objective was to obliterate organized crime; apparently various international mobs like to operate through France, where security is more lax than in other parts of Europe. He had successfully brought down more than his fair share of crime bosses, heavy hitters from the Russian and Sicilian families, and even the Yakuza, not to mention dozens of gangsters in the French mafia. It's no surprise that he would be a prime target for both the mob and any group associated with them.

When Yuna finished, he sat back in the chair and stared out the window, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "So, whoever sent me after your father must be an affiliate of the mob, someone who stands to lose something if Braska makes office."

"If he becomes the PM, he will have even more power to go after the crime families. I told him he should not be so public and outspoken about it, but he is so passionate about bringing them down," Yuna sighed.

He allowed himself to listlessly follow her gaze. "The people I used to work for aren't some petty crime family out for revenge. What I can do, the way I fight . . . I've been seriously conditioned for this kind of thing. Some pissed off Italian family wouldn't put in the kind of money it would take to train someone like that. I'm thinking I come from a military background; black ops, most likely, or something like it."

"Why would a military organization care about the affairs of a French politician and his war on organized crime?" Yuna asked, frowning.

He shrugged a little. "I'm not sure. Maybe the mob is in bed with the government, and doesn't want an idealist getting in the way of their business."

Yuna closed her eyes, looking suddenly very tired. "All we can do is wait and see what we find in Zurich. We should get there early tomorrow morning, before sunrise."

"Get some sleep," he offered. "I'll stay awake."

She opened one eye and smiled slightly. "_Menteur_. You will pass out the second I do."

He smirked. "Trust me on this one."

Nodding, she curled up on the seat with her arm tucked under her head. Minutes later, her breathing became slow and regular, the only sound in the compartment other than the train wheels pounding on the tracks.

000

Yuna awoke sharply as the loud, shrill hiss of the engine brakes pierced her ears. She felt the pull of the train struggling to slow down, the sudden impact nearly throwing her from her seat.

Her companion grabbed her and hauled her upright, his dark blue eyes searching around them for signs of danger.

"What is happening?" she gasped after regaining her balance. "Why are we stopping?"

He moved to peer through the blinds covering the glass on the door. Yuna grabbed her bag and quickly put on her sunglasses as he cautiously stuck his head out into the hallway. "See anything?" she asked.

"No," he replied absently, beckoning her to follow him. "Stay close – we're getting off. I don't like this."

She hastily moved to his back. He reached behind and gently forced her to hug the wall the way he was. His other hand was inching closer to the gun hidden in his jeans.

"_Mesdames et messieurs_," a voice on the PA system said suddenly, making Yuna jump. "The police have requested that we stop immediately to allow them aboard. It is merely a random search and we will continue on to Zurich shortly after. Please stay in your compartments and be ready to cooperate."

They exchanged meaningful glances when the door to the next car suddenly banged open. A man in dark, forgettable clothes marched forward, a silenced handgun raised and aimed squarely at them. Yuna screamed before she could stop herself, and her companion rocketed forward into the other man. A muted gunshot sounded off, and Yuna could not be sure if anyone was hit, but the blond had tackled the attacker without any sort of hesitation. They fell, both of them silent, a mess of limbs and fists. A moment later and the gun had somehow been wrestled away from the stranger, skidding on the floor before thudding into Yuna's foot. She stared down at it for a moment before stooping to pick it up.

A sickening crack grabbed her attention. Her friend stood up the attacker's body, his lip cut and bloody, and sure enough there was a bullet hole in his arm, leaking darkly onto the carpet. The other man was lying flat on his back, his head resting at an angle that could only mean his neck had been broken. His eyes were fixed right on Yuna. She stared back, feeling suddenly very cold and naked.

Her companion gently took the gun from her rigid fingers. "You okay?" he asked, his breathing slightly heavy. She nodded and then tore her eyes away from the body, focusing instead on the wound in her companion's arm.

"You're not," she pointed out, gesturing to it. He glanced down at it as if seeing it for the first time.

"It's not too bad," he assured her. "But we should keep moving. There will probably be more coming."

As he spoke, the window next to Yuna shattered and a searing hot pain made her gasp and double over, clutching at her ribs. A thin line of red began soaking through the rip in her shirt where the bullet had grazed her.

Before she could even stand upright her friend shoved her down onto the floor and reached out the window, pulling the assassin indoors. His face was a mask of cold fury; Yuna, still in shock, only dimly registered the way he drove his thumbs into the second attacker's eyes, shoving up towards the brain. The man's screams somehow felt far away, echoing even after he stopped kicking.

The door to the car behind them opened and two more men poured into the aisle, guns at the ready. Yuna made a strangled noise in her throat as they started firing, covering her head in her arms. Her companion jumped in front of her, and suddenly both guns were in his hands. The one that was not silenced seemed nearly deafening in the crowded, metallic hallway, but it only took two shots before silence settled again. One man fell with twin holes letting light into his skull, while the silenced gun took out the other, right through the throat in one try.

A moment later she was lifted up, and his eyes were peering anxiously down into hers. "Yuna –"

"Grazed," she said, becoming more and more aware of the burning sensation in her side now that the shock was wearing off. "Could have been worse."

He pulled her towards the emergency exit, keeping an arm around her waist for support. "I'll get you fixed up as soon as I can," he promised her, pushing the door open. The train had nearly stopped, and there was hardly any breeze stirring.

"Which of us is the doctor?" she reminded him, wanting desperately to let her head fall against his shoulder. She felt his body lightly shudder with a humourless laugh as they climbed over the rail (she, a little unsteadily).

"You can give me directions," he offered politely, before jumping away from the rail and pulling her after him.


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you to all who reviewed! Much obliged. This chapter was a gargantuan pain in the ass for some reason. I had to go back and edit the crap out of it before it satisfied me, which explains why this took so damn long.

On a side note, _Bourne Ultimatum_ was AWESOME. Fresh batch of inspiration!

000

**Chapter 9**

He probably should have prepared her more.

It wasn't a long fall, or a very hard one, but Yuna was still in shock from her wound, and he had not given her much warning at all. She landed with a muted grunt next to him, her hand red with blood as she pressed down on the graze. He kept his arm around her and immediately made for the cluster of cork trees ahead of them, praying that they had not been spotted. He could see the blue and red flash of police cars lining either side of the tracks up ahead, and the dark shapes of officers standing in wait to jump on the train. They were still far off, but not so far that they wouldn't miss two people running towards the trees if they looked hard enough.

As they ran, he inwardly cursed at himself. He had gotten careless, desperate. He should have stayed to clean up the mess he'd made. The smart thing to do would have been to stash the bodies somewhere and wipe up all the blood. There weren't many places where he could hide four corpses on that cramped train car, but maybe it would have bought them some time.

He didn't even want to think of all the fingerprints they had left behind.

Once they reached the tree line he sat Yuna down to get a quick look at the gash, gently resting her against a tree trunk.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she gasped, wincing as he pushed her hand aside.

He widened the tear in her shirt to examine it. "I'll feel better when we get you cleaned up. Besides, we can't have you bleeding all over the place, now can we?" He tried to smile at that last part, but it felt forced, and she didn't return it. Looking down, he saw that the flesh was parted more than he had expected, and it was bleeding freely. He could see that a simple bandage wouldn't be enough; she needed stitches.

"What about you?" she asked, nodding to the bullet hole in his arm. He glanced down at it absently. It burned, and it would probably affect his mobility before long, but he found that he was quite able to ignore the pain. Perhaps it was something he had grown accustomed to in his line of work. He tore off a strip of fabric from the hem of his shirt and wrapped it around his arm to keep blood from falling on the grass. The last thing they needed was a trail for the cops to follow.

Through the small gathering of trees he could see a farmhouse close by, backed by an enormous barn. It was surrounded by sheep and cows, with a couple of horses completing the scene. A few old trucks were parked at miscellaneous locations around the yard. The windows were dark, shuttered.

She followed his gaze. "You think anybody's home?"

"Stay here," he ordered. "I'm going to get a closer look. Maybe there are some supplies in there –"

"What are you suggesting?" she asked incredulously. "We should break into that house – two wanted fugitives – and steal medical supplies that might not even exist from whoever might be in there?"

He rubbed his eyes. "All I know is that between those cops out there and us being injured with no car, we don't have many options," he pointed out. "We could sit here and wait for them to search the train, find those bodies and our blood on the floor, track us out here and arrest us . . . or we could just take a closer look at that house and see if there might be anything useful."

From her expression, he could tell she wasn't totally sold on the idea.

"Look, if I don't find anything, I'll come back for you and we can take a truck. We'll drive to Zurich ourselves," he offered, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

Pursing her lips, she nodded and sat back down on the grass. He removed his jacket and threw it around her shoulders. "Stay out of sight," he ordered quietly. "I'll be back soon."

"Be careful."

He took off at a measured lope, keeping close to the ground and using every available cover to stay invisible. Yuna's eyes followed him until he disappeared out the other end of the tree line.

His body seemed to know the routine. He stayed as low as possible while moving continuously, heading for cover along the way. Bushes, ditches, and even an old tractor provided shelter for him as he moved. The sky was darkening, which helped, but his eyes roved back and forward between the house and the cluster of police cars near the tracks.

For the most part, the animals ignored him. A few sheep darted away as he drew near and one of the cows pawed the earth warningly as he passed, but no real ruckus occurred.

He reached the house a few minutes later and ducked under what appeared to be the kitchen window. It was dark inside, but a faint light from the TV lit up the glass. He slowly raised himself up to look inside. An old man was sitting on a reclining chair right in front of the window, facing the TV with a semi-vacant expression on his face. He noticed movement at the corner of his eye and suddenly looked outside, squinting in the gloom of his house.

Cursing silently, the blond dropped down and hurried around the corner of the house, hoping no one else was home. Normally he would have turned and walked away from it all, but he had distinctly seen a white med kit above the stove, and now the hole in his arm was really smarting. One old man wouldn't be hard to overpower, and it's not like he planned on killing the guy. Maybe just knock him out for a couple hours.

There was another window at the back of the house, an open one that led into a tiny, cramped bathroom. He slowly peered inside, only to find himself staring down the barrel of a Winchester.

The old man cocked the rifle in a business-like fashion. His scruffy beard belied the efficient, calculating mind that must be operating underneath. He was obviously used to handling this gun, and his senses were much sharper than one would have given him credit for. He had known that he had seen someone skulking around his property.

"So, you're the one the police are after," he commented in an almost conversational tone, his French colloquial and somewhat rustic. "You don't look like much in person. And you're bleeding all over my poppies."

The startled young man automatically raised his hands at the sight of the gun, not daring to check the makeshift bandage that was soaking through. His heart was racing, as were his thoughts; he was not close enough to grab the gun before the old man would pull the trigger, and he did not want to risk such a bullet hitting him at this range, aimed squarely at his forehead.

"Please, _monsieur_," he said slowly, in French. "There's been a mistake."

The old man raised an eyebrow at the accent. "_Américain_?" he queried. "What do the police want with an American boy, I wonder. And where is your _petite amie_? The pretty girl from the poster."

He considered lying, but decided that this old man had some measure of shrewdness to him. His list of options was running shorter by the minute. He licked his lips and tried to ignore the mounting pain in his arm.

"She's hurt, back there in the trees," he explained, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. The words were sounding even more pathetic out loud than in his head. "I came here to find medical supplies."

The farmer laughed. "And you thought I would simply hand it over and forget about your faces flashing on the news channel? Tell me, boy . . . what's to stop me from shouting to the police? They've already searched the house once, the filthy pigs, but to get you I think I would not mind having them come back."

He felt his heart sinking. "If you like, you can call them. But you should know that my friend is innocent of any charges. It is only her bad fortune to be in my company at this point."

The old man blinked at him, looking taken aback. The rifle lowered ever so slightly. "Why is she with you, if she is innocent?"

"She is my hostage."

"You show too much concern for a woman who is just 'your hostage', my friend. I think you are lying." The rifle came back up. "I think you are trying to protect this woman. Is she your lover?"

"No," he replied firmly. "But I owe her a lot. And I promise you that she is blameless of anything they might accuse her of."

"Why do the police want you so bad, if you say there has been a mistake?"

"_Monsieur,_ please," he said, becoming urgent. "I am begging you. If you will not help me, either shoot me or turn me in. Just . . . please help my friend. She does not deserve any of this."

The farmer stared at him with probing eyes for a long time, reading every worry-worn inch of the young man's face. He stared back levelly, silently praying for some kind of miracle.

"How badly injured is she?"

"Not terribly. But she's in a lot of pain."

"Can she walk?"

"Yes."

Suddenly the barrel of the rifle dropped down and the old man gave him a quick nod. "A man who cares so deeply for his friends, enough to endanger his own life, is no criminal. Bring her to me, and I will help you. Be quick about it."

He nearly sagged with relief as the air rushed out of his lungs.

"_Merci,_" he said breathlessly, turning and hurrying back across the field. The police would be moving further down the train by now, getting closer to the car filled with dead bodies.

He kneeled down next to Yuna to check her wound. The bleeding had slowed down, and was beginning to coagulate. He figured that was a good thing, but he didn't like how pale she looked.

"I found a friend," he explained as he guided her to her feet. "He agreed to help us."

"Can we trust him?" she asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder at the police cars.

"I think so. He doesn't seem very fond of the police."

Yuna snorted lightly. "The French police do not have many friends, even in their own country," she grumbled, copying his posture and keeping herself as low to the ground as she could. She was leaning heavily on him, but managed to keep up.

They reached the back of the house where the bathroom window was left open invitingly. He crawled in first before turning around to pull Yuna through, careful of her injury. Under the door he could see a sliver of yellow light from the kitchen down the hall. Mindful of any windows they might pass, he led Yuna towards the kitchen, where the old man was setting up a workspace. A small round table had been cleared off, and fresh white linen had been spread over it. The medical supplies were laid out, easily within reach.

The farmer glanced up as they approached, both looking uncertain and nervous. His eyes warmed on Yuna.

"Lie down, _cherie_," he instructed kindly. "My name is Maechan. You are Miss Savard, yes?"

Yuna nodded and offered him a smile as her companion helped her onto the table. "I am most grateful, _monsieur_. You are risking a lot for us."

He waved his hands dismissively at the notion as he went to examine her. Pushing up her shirt, his sharp eyes narrowed slightly on the wound. "Hmmm," he mused. "Nothing I cannot handle. You, boy . . . what is your name?"

The blond opened and closed his mouth, frowning. He wanted to explain to the old man why he had no answer, but Maechan shrugged and looked away.

"No matter. Just get me a cloth."

He found himself appreciating the farmer's bluntness, the way he was simplifying an otherwise complicated issue. It felt nice to take direction for once. He went to the tap and ran a cloth under warm water, while behind him Maechan was making small talk in rapid, comfortable French.

"You are in good hands, child. I sewed up more than a few friends on the battlefield during the war. Out there, one had to learn quickly or lose a comrade. We didn't have enough medics, you see. Walking around the field, looking for the injured, sometimes they would get shot and have to direct us on how best to fix them up!"

Yuna was listening politely, nodding her head and smiling at the appropriate times. "I trust your judgment, monsieur Maechan," she assured him, closing her eyes as her friend brought the cloth over. Maechan took it and gently began wiping away the blood crusting around the wound.

Feeling completely useless, the young man paced around the table, watching as the needle skillfully went into Yuna's skin. She sucked in a quick breath and kept remarkably still.

"You okay?" he asked, gazing down at her as she schooled her features. She was trying to look like she was in less pain than she really was; it was a sensitive area.

"The skin is so thin here, it's hard not to feel every poke," she admitted. "But Maechan knows what he is doing." The old man beamed up at her as he worked.

"Almost done," he announced. "I hope I don't leave a scar on such a pretty girl."

Yuna allowed a small chuckle at that. "I would be proud to wear it."

"There," Maechan declared, taping a bandage over his handiwork. "That should do it. Take some extra gauze with you, yes?"

Yuna sat up and pulled her shirt down, looking pointedly at her companion. "Your turn," she said authoritatively.

He obediently sat down and allowed Maechan to have a look at his wound, which was by now beginning to look red and angry. His whole upper arm felt like it was being eaten from the inside out by fire ants, yet he felt oddly detached from it. He had probably been forced to get used to pain like this, doing what he did for a living. The thought unsettled him.

Maechan managed to dig the bullet out with a set of tweezers, and secured a bandage over the hole after rubbing a disinfectant over it (which actually stung more than the actual wound).

"I have some spare shirts that might fit you," the old man grunted, gesturing towards what must be the bedroom. "Yours has seen better days."

Nodding, the younger man went and looked through the closet, before choosing a nondescript t-shirt to go under his jacket.

It was only sheer luck that had him walk by the window at that precise moment. Had he been looking the other way, he would not have noticed the sudden beam of light from a policeman's flashlight on the ground as a team of officers approached the house.

He quickly ducked and rolled out into the hallway away from any windows, his pulse racing. Careful to remain low, he scrambled to the kitchen where Yuna and Maechan were chatting.

"They're here," he said, almost numbly. "The police. They found us."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Yuna only had to see the look on his face to know that something was wrong. She felt her blood quicken as he spoke, reading his lips and hardly hearing his voice. Maechan stiffened at her side and then promptly started forward.

"Come," was all he said, and she followed him mutely. Out the window, she peripherally made out the red and blue flash of cop cars pulling up to the house, and flashlights scrutinizing in the dark. Her companion quickly moved to her back, following them without a word.

Maechan moved surprisingly fast for a man of his age. He led them down to the root cellar and lifted up a heavy brown carpet, revealing a trap door in the dirt floor, tucked away in the far corner. Appearing quite calm, he gave them a little shrug as the young man stooped to push aside the wooden door covered in mud and clay.

"It fooled the Nazis," he stated simply, glancing up as there was a resounding knock at the front door upstairs. "Perhaps it will fool these pigs. There should be enough oxygen in there to last twenty minutes. I'll try and have them out of here before then."

Yuna felt an almost overwhelming rush of panic as she stared into the gaping hole in the floor. Claustrophobia. It was her one irrational fear, and the reason why she never set foot in elevators or walked into a closet without making sure the doors wouldn't close behind her. The idea of climbing into that cramped, dark, narrow space made the bile rise in her throat.

Once, when she was ten, she was at a friend's birthday party. They were playing truth or dare while the adults were in the other room, and she had been dared to hide in the crawlspace for the rest of the afternoon. Not wanting to be labeled a coward, she heroically accepted the challenge and wedged herself into the tight, dark space between the walls. It was hot, and she was in such a comfortable position that she fell asleep soon after, and the other children thought it would be a great joke to pretend that she had disappeared entirely. They ran to tell their parents that little Yuna had gone missing. Being asleep, she did not hear them call her name or hear their footsteps pounding up and down the stairs throughout the house.

When she woke up, there were rats darting back and forward over her legs, and there was a monstrous spider crawling on her arm. Her screams led the adults right to her. The police had been called by that time. Her father had not stopped scolding her for hours.

"I can't," she whispered, feeling herself rooted to the spot. "Not there. Please."

"Yuna," her friend said quietly. "We don't have a choice. There's nothing else we can do. Everything will be all right."

She was grateful to hear his obvious attempt at keeping the impatient edge out of his voice. What could she say, or do? Before she could summon the words, he hopped down into the compartment and turned to lift her down after him. She was shaking so hard that she nearly slid out of his grasp.

Maechan closed the door above them and dropped the mat over it , enveloping them in complete darkness. The stench of soil, dust, and rotting wood filled her nostrils and nearly made her gag. As she lay down, she felt the telltale crunch of dead insect shells underneath her. There was no room to spread out; they had to curl up on their sides with their legs tucked up and their heads bent forward at an uncomfortable angle. Behind her, his breath hot on the back of her neck, he was completely still. She closed her eyes, but it made no difference. All around her was pitch black, the deepest dark she had ever experienced. It felt as though they had stumbled into another dimension. She prayed there were no rats or spiders in their with them, but had a strong suspicion that there might be at least one of the two present.

Deep breaths would have helped, but she was afraid of using up all their air. She fought to still her racing heart and sought any and all inner strength she had to keep her from completely losing it. The commotion happening in the house above them offered a surprisingly effective distraction.

Upstairs she could only hear muffled voices, sounding miles away. She heard Maechan speaking, and was apparently interrupted harshly by someone else, most likely an officer. Footsteps started tromping around the house. It would only be a matter of time before they would make their way down to the cellar.

"If they find us," he whispered suddenly, his voice sounding remarkably close in her ears, "I'll have to kill them."

She released a slow, shaky breath. There had to be at least a dozen men up there, but she doubted that number could stand in his way. Not after what she'd seen him do. "I was afraid of that."

His hand came up and lightly squeezed her shoulder. "I told you there was no going back."

"I know."

"I wish it didn't have to be this way." The entire wooden box seemed to vibrate with his words.

"I know," she said again, trying fervently not to cry. She reached up and her fingers found his in the dark. He held on. Suddenly she wondered what it would have been like to meet him in a café, or at the beach. Perhaps at a club, or in a park somewhere. Normalcy. She doubted she would ever truly recapture the meaning of that word in the end. At that moment she felt a remarkable sadness descended on her.

For a long time, it seemed rather quiet. Aside from the sounds of marching in and out of rooms, and the slamming of doors, they heard very little. Eventually, though, the door to the root cellar banged open and heavily booted feet tromped down the wooden steps to the compact dirt floor. Yuna inhaled sharply and tensed every muscle in her body, hardly daring to breathe.

Behind her she felt her friend's hand moved to pull out the silenced handgun he had taken from one of the assassins on the train. The cold metal brushed against the skin on her lower back and she nearly gasped out loud. Her sudden flinch at the sensation made him pause, and he gave her a moment to quiet herself before he moved the gun up to aim towards the trapdoor, ready to fire at the slightest sign of danger.

"This is bullshit," one of the policemen muttered fiercely. He was standing right above them. "We've already searched this house, and all the other houses near the tracks. We won't find them here."

"You saw the blood leading away from the train. One of them is wounded," the other replied in a calmer tone. "There are only so many places they can hide."

"Do you think the old man has anything to do with this? He's acting strangely."

"Who knows? That CIA agent is probably just making him nervous. He certainly scares me."

Yuna felt her friend shift almost imperceptibly at her back, and she strained her ears to listen more. _CIA?_

"You're telling me. Who is he, anyway?" the first cop asked. Yuna heard the click of a lighter, and the telltale sounds of someone lighting up a cigarette.

"The sergeant called him Kelk. He came into the precinct today and said that catching this American boy is a level four priority," the other man commented, sounding slightly incredulous.

"Level four? _Vous_ _être confondu_," his partner scoffed. "For an American and some woman? I hardly believe that."

"Remember those bodies we found?" the other man reminded him. "They were obviously hired men. The guy we're dealing with is a professional – anyone who can do _that_ to trained assassins has got to be our main concern."

Yuna silently willed them to keep talking about the agent Kelk. She had a feeling – and could tell that her friend did as well – that he was connected to the people that were hunting them. But the cops merely finished their smoke before heading back upstairs.

She turned to look over her shoulder as much as possible, wondering if she would be able to see, even in such darkness, the look on his face. All she could hear was how his breath had quickened ever so slightly.

"Kelk," he murmured.

"Do you recognize that name?" Yuna asked softly.

He shook his head. "No. But if he's from the CIA, that could mean a lot of different things, depending on who he answers to."

"Then what does 'level four priority' mean?"

The sudden strain in his voice frightened her. "It means that every cop and special agent in France is going to be on high alert, searching for _our_ faces."

Tears stung her eyes as she thought of Wakka and Lulu, and Auron. Her _father._

He sighed heavily and leaned his forehead against the back of her neck. As he closed his eyes she nearly shivered when his eyelashes brushed across her skin. "We're leaving for Zurich tonight. I don't care if I have to drive for three whole days. I'm gonna put a stop to this."

She nodded, but couldn't speak around the lump in her throat. Their fingers were still laced together.

000

Lying with her in the dark felt strangely safe. Cut off from the world. Until the policemen came down into the cellar, it had been hard for him to imagine any harm getting to them. They seemed so distant, invisible. He wondered how willing he was to leave that black, stifling haven. And yet he knew with steadfast certainty that he could without hesitation kill his way through an entire team of cops in order to get himself and Yuna out of there. He could envision in his mind the steps he'd take, the number of bullets he need, how quickly and quietly to move in every shadow provided. The hardest part would be dispatching those first men above him quietly. Everything after that would be simple.

Even so, he was undeniably relieved when they left shortly after.

Now he was starting to get dizzy as every breath they took sucked away more and more oxygen. His eyes began to droop shut when Maechan suddenly threw aside the mat and yanked open the trapdoor, his dark eyes scanning them anxiously.

"_Désolé_," he apologized, helping Yuna climb out of the compartment. She looked more than a little grateful. "They took their time in leaving. That agent Kelk was asking a lot of questions."

"What did he look like?" the young man asked, brushing off dust and dead bugs. "The policemen down here mentioned him."

"Tall," Maechan replied, indicating with his hand. "Big man, powerfully built. Short greying hair, pale brown eyes. Black moustache. He spoke with an American accent, like yourself."

He exchanged glances with Yuna. "And the French are okay taking orders from an American?"

Maechan shrugged. "He must be someone important."

"Perhaps," he mused.

"_Monsieur_," Yuna said suddenly to the old man, lightly touching his arm, "I know you have done so much for us tonight – more than we could have hoped for – but is there any chance we could ask one last favour from you?"

"Only a man carved from stone could resist such a face, _cherie_," Maechan replied graciously, patting her hand. "What do you need?"

"A vehicle," the younger man cut in. "Anything that can run for at least a few days. We need to get to Zurich, and public transport seems to be out of the question now."

Maechan winked and led them back upstairs. "I have just the thing for you. She doesn't look like much, but it would take the hand of the Lord Himself to stop her from running."

Back in the kitchen, he fished around in a drawer overflowing with papers and miscellaneous trinkets before pulling out a set of old keys. He tossed them to the blond man with ease.

"The brown Chevy next to the barn. I use it to carry heavy loads in and out of town, so there should still be some gas in it," he told them, handing Yuna the little med kit. "And take this as well. You both might need it later."

Yuna wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a swift kiss on each cheek. "_Merci,_" she thanked him. "I will never forget your kindness."

"One day, I'll find a way to repay you," her companion said earnestly, shaking Maechan's hand. He seemed to be making all kinds of promises lately; promises he didn't know he would be able to keep in the future.

Maechan waved him away. "Please, do not trouble yourself – I was happy to do it! I am no friend of the French police. Just be careful, both of you."

They both gave him a smile, which he returned warmly before nudging them towards the side door. "Go now. Get as far away as you can."

After saying goodbye, the two of them headed outside. They were able to move in the dark without fear of being spotted; the police were long gone. The only evidence of their presence were the tire tracks in the mud all around the house.

He fired up the truck as Yuna slid into the seat next to him. It smelled like cigarettes and old leather, but it could have been a golden chariot for all he cared when the engine roared to life.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Seymour watched pensively as his assistant's face became more and more grim. One didn't have to be a genius to see that things were quickly going from bad to worse. His fingernails bit into the palm of his hand as he clenched it into a fist, waiting as the young man hailed the team captain over and over again.

"No answer, sir," Joshua said quietly, cutting off transmission and removing the earpiece.

His boss stared into space quietly, his expression completely still and unreadable. He was wondering how exactly one man, good though he may be, was able to take out four specialized agents all by himself. That, and he was pondering how on earth he was going to avoid getting fired for this whole fiasco, which was spiraling faster and faster out of his control. Such a thing had never happened to him before.

"Think it's time to hail the Swiss police?" Lynwood asked from his desk, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"No," Seymour replied stonily. "Not yet, at least. They won't be as cooperative. If our guy's smart, he won't kill anyone while he's there – at least then the police will leave him alone."

"Sir." The voice at his back was soft, and feminine; one he was hearing more and more as the long hours of this mess stretched on. "Is there still a satellite phone in the Zurich vault?"

He turned to the young woman named Rikku and raised a frosted eyebrow at her. "Why?"

"Well," she said carefully, examining her nails, "we could still try to contact him. Just to see what exactly we're dealing with, here. Maybe he'll want to talk."

Seymour grit his teeth and mulled the idea over before reluctantly glancing towards his two most annoying colleagues, Mika and Kinoc. Both were smiling genially at him, obviously very amused with his growing predicament.

"It's worth a shot, ain't it?" Kinoc offered with a broad wink. "I mean it can't be worse than anything else _you've_ suggested."

Sighing heavily, Seymour nodded at Lynwood, the only person in the whole department he actually knew he could count on. "Get it set up. I'll be doing the talking."

000

Her eyelids lifted slowly, the leaden shackles of exhaustion still weighing them down. She did not _want_ to be awake. She wanted to sink back into oblivion and never have to leave this bed, wherever it was. The small town's name had eluded her last night, but she still couldn't bring herself to care. They were so close to the Swiss border that she could almost smell the Alps in the distance.

But then she gradually became aware of the other presence in the room, and she forced herself to sit up.

He was sitting patiently on the bed across from hers, looking freshly showered and scanning the day's newspaper. She studied him for a second, wondering how he managed to look so well rested while she still felt as though she could sleep for another week.

She brought her hand up to smooth down an annoying cowlick, and he glanced up at her over the paper.

"Good morning," he said politely.

"Good morning," she yawned in reply. "Is there anything in the paper about us?"

He shook his head, looking suddenly grim. "No. I have a feeling some strings were pulled to keep the train incident quiet," he told her, setting the paper down on the bed. She nodded wordlessly, unaware that she was hugging herself.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

She made a face to try and lighten the mood, and threw the covers aside before rising to her feet and crossing to the bathroom. "I'll leave you to form your own answer while I take a shower."

He smiled slightly and nodded.

Upon shutting the door, the first thing she saw was her reflection in the mirror. She grimaced and moved closer to examine herself. The last couple of days had been such a whirlwind that she hadn't given much thought to her appearance.

The unflattering fluorescent lights in the bathroom made her look even paler, almost ashen, and cast hideous shadows under her eyes and cheekbones. Some of her makeup from the night before had smudged slightly, darkening her eyes and making her look like one of the undead. Her hair was a tousled mess, sticking up in random places. Its colour had never looked so mousey and lackluster as it did at that moment.

Disgusted, she turned away. She had never been a vain person, but the effortless beauty of her companion only served to remind her how plain and ordinary she was. Until now all she had ever really cared about was hygiene and, at the very least, looking tidy. At the moment, however, she found herself lamenting her small breasts and forgettable figure.

The shower helped; stepping out, she saw that it had flushed her complexion and washed away the residue of the day before. It wasn't much, but it was enough to let her feel a little more comfortable with herself. Hot water did wonders for her mood in the morning.

"Ready to go?" he asked when she emerged, fully dressed and smelling of soap.

"I should be asking you that," she returned. "We're close, aren't we?"

He nodded solemnly. She peered closely at him. "Are you all right?"

For a moment she thought he was going to tell her that he was fine, and continue to suffer privately. But he surprised her by looking away and shrugging. "I don't really know."

She moved a little closer to him. "Whatever we find . . . it doesn't change you, the way you are right now. This is who you are, no?"

He hesitantly brought his eyes up to meet hers. "What makes you so sure of that?"

The fear in his voice made her stomach knot unexpectedly. "You've shown me nothing but kindness. That is enough proof for me."

"I just keep wondering if I'm going to find something that will make me hate myself," he admitted darkly, moving past her. She had the feeling he was trying to hide his expression from her. "I've done such terrible things. Even since meeting you. I've been trained to be a killer, and nothing else."

"You've had plenty of opportunities to prove to me what a bad man you are, yet you have been nothing but brave and selfless," she countered swiftly, taking his hand in hers. "I'm alive because of you."

He gave her a long look, one that seemed to rob her of breath. Then he slowly brought her hand up to his lips and held it there. She fought to keep from swaying on the spot, suddenly feeling a wave of panic rise up at the openness of his gaze. He was on the verge of saying something, and she had the terrifying notion that whatever he was would make her fall in love with him.

So when he opened his mouth to speak, she stepped closer and silenced it with her own.

It was quick and light, but it was enough to make his body stiffen and go rigid with shock. He didn't even have time to react before she released him. He was standing perfectly still, looking down at her with a somewhat paralyzed look on his face. It was perhaps the most unguarded she had ever seen him, and the sheer idiocy of what she had just done dawned on her.

"Sorry," she breathed. "I don't know –"

This time it was he who shut her up, his lips crashing down on hers with a fierce hunger that sent shockwaves rippling through her body. He was pressing her to him so tightly that she could feel his stomach muscles tensing against her, begging to be touched and explored. She would have fallen to her knees were it not for the strength in those arms. Deliriously, she slid her hands up from his waist to his chest, and then higher to comb through his hair. A tremour of delight shuddered through her as he cradled the back of her head with one powerful hand, while the other slide down to explore the small of her back and lower.

They broke apart once for air, and she had enough time to see the way his eyes were blazing into her before she needed more and pulled him back down.

_He's killing me_, she thought in agony as he slowed their rhythm, eager to memorize every inch of her with his hands. _Setting me on fire. _In spite of his strength, how easily he pinned her against him, she could sense him holding back ever so slightly, afraid of crushing her with his need. It made her want him even more.

Still locked in his arms, Yuna began taking small steps backwards, pulling him with her. He followed readily, already pushing up under the hem of her shirt. She obligingly removed it. The edge of the mattress hit the back of her knees and she fell onto the bed. He went down with her, arching his back as he tore off his own shirt at her insistent tug. The number of clothes scattered about the room began to grow, until both were wholly naked and her skin began to remember this sensation. Her fingers roamed his body wondrously, unable to recall seeing someone shaped with such perfection. For a moment she stared up at him, and he down at her, and she felt a stab of fear at the prospect that he would come to his senses first and pull away from her.

_I don't even know your name._

But then he lowered himself so that all the contours of their bodies were pressed together. He kissed her soundly, slowly, and any thought of rejection was immediately cast out.

And when his lips began to move lower, she lost all thought entirely.

000

A few hours later – it could have been longer, he supposed – they reluctantly left the motel room. It had taken him a while to clean the place up and get rid of any evidence they left behind, and all the while he couldn't stop his body from remembering the feel of her skin all over his.

Yuna was smiling at him, hair still slightly tousled. It was downright distracting and made the cleaning process take much longer than necessary. He was not used to being flustered, but it was hard to keep his eyes from appreciating the lines and curves of her body, now inescapably familiar to him. She stood by the door, waiting as he did one last check to make sure they weren't leaving anything for their hunters to find. When he finished, they walked silently to the truck parked outside.

The smart thing to do would have been to push her away and firmly put to rest any further ideas. It would have kept things simple between them, almost professional. He wouldn't have these fresh feelings of guilt and the gut-wrenching fear of getting her hurt or killed. It would drive him insane with worry. It wouldn't fill him with false hope that maybe, somehow, he could have a happy ending with someone who seemed to feel the same way but deserved so much better than him.

But then he had gone ahead and kissed her back, and she had been so soft and warm, and even her lightest touch made him feel like something more than just a face with no name. More than a weapon. In that moment it hadn't mattered who he was, or what he had done or who he had hurt. It didn't matter how many guns he knew how to handle or how efficiently he could kill someone with his bare hands . . . none of that made him feel like a man the way she did. And at the same time, he had never felt more powerless. Vulnerable.

They drove in silence for the most part, and he would catch her watching him from time to time. He would have done the same if he weren't forced to keep his eyes on the road.

He had been expecting some kind of border patrol to make things difficult – and in truth he wasn't sure how they would make it through, if at all – but the Swiss policemen didn't seem interested in stopping people today. They were waved on through, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Yuna whispered a small prayer of thanks.

They stopped in Bern for the night. It felt strange not to be constantly looking over his shoulder, though he knew he was quickly approaching forbidden ground. He had the strangest sense that his pursuers – both the police and the unseen enemy – had backed off slightly. That made him both extremely nervous and extremely thankful at the same time.

Inside the hotel, two policemen were talking to a woman who was reporting a theft of some kind. At the sight of them, he instantly tensed up and every instinct screamed at him to get himself and Yuna out of there as soon as possible. Yuna grabbed his hand and took a step backwards towards the exit. The man at the counter, however, spotted them and waved them forward with a smile. The policemen glanced up at the two people standing in the doorway and then went back to interviewing the woman in front of them. The Swiss obviously weren't on the lookout for a young blond foreigner and a Frenchwoman with two different coloured eyes.

He forced himself to relax and walked up to the counter with Yuna, who had also managed to regain her composure. She even managed to smile knowingly at him when the man at the desk asked whether they wanted two beds or one.

000

Yuna lay in the dark, listening to his silence. He was awake; his breathing wasn't soft and regular like it would be if he were asleep. Even after they made love, he had seemed strangely preoccupied.

"You're awake too, you know," he pointed out, sounding as though he was smiling slightly.

"How did you know?" she demanded. He chuckled, causing the bed to vibrate ever so slightly.

"You snore in your sleep," he told her. "Loudly. Like a man."

"You lie!" she accused, rolling over to smack his arm. "French women _never_ snore."

He laughed and shielded his head. "I like it," he said warmly. "It's soothing."

She huffed at him and turned her back on him, determined to make him feel bad. He slipped his arms around her from behind, and she tried to act as nonchalant as possible, even though his touch still made her heart fly wildly. "I do _not _snore," she insisted, sounding almost plaintive. "Not like a man, at least!"

He buried his face in her hair and breathed in deeply. "Okay, okay, not exactly like a man. It's a softer, sexier snore." His voice had dropped low enough to make her shiver involuntarily.

"Well, when you say it like that . . ." she gave in, rendered helpless in his arms.

They lay in silence for a while, long enough for her to start nodding off, when he spoke again.

"Yuna . . . what's the one place you've always wanted to go to?" he asked her, almost hesitantly. "Some place you've never been."

The question puzzled her. She turned and looked up at him over her shoulder, only to find him staring back intently.

"Well . . . I've always thought the Antilles looked nice," she replied slowly. "Why?"

"Want to go there?"

She blinked. "With you?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning."

"What about Zurich?" she asked, rolling over to face him. "We're so close."

"Forget Zurich," he said sitting up in the dark. "Let's just . . . go. I'll find a way t pay you back somehow, I promise. Do you want to?"

"I . . . well, I . . ." she stammered, running a hand through her hair. Where on Earth was all this coming from? "I don't know. It's . . ."

"Sudden, I know. But think about it. Just the two of us on a beach somewhere, away from all this . . ."

"Are you all right?" she asked, growing nervous at the strange tone in his voice. He sounded almost like a stranger. A real stranger, not the man with no name who had somehow stolen a piece of her heart.

Part of him must have realized how he was sounding. The desperation left him and his posture sagged almost brokenly. "Forget it," he said quietly, suddenly looking very tired. "Just . . . I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You scared me," she confessed, regarding him closely as he lay back down.

"I'm sorry," he said again. She could dimly see his expression, even though the room was almost completely black. His expression was so sad and defeated that she almost wish she had blindly said yes.

"Zurich . . . is important," she said cautiously, lying back down against him. "You know that, right?"

He pulled her close to him and rested his chin on top of her head. "Yeah, I know. Let's just get some sleep."

She knew he wasn't angry – at least not with her – but she bit her lip anxiously all the same. Being a natural people-pleaser, she hated to disappoint, and she knew that he was absolutely serious when he talked about going away with her.

It wasn't the idea of running off to the Antilles with him that frightened her so much and made her lie awake for several more hours that night. It was the fact that a huge part of her desperately wanted to say yes.


	12. Chapter 12

A note to people from Switzerland, if any of you happen to be reading this – I realize that Swiss-German is quite different from German-German (it feels weird typing that), but I could not find any reliable translators online, so I was forced to stick with regular ol' German. Please forgive me! I'm not trying to insult your language, culture, heritage, etc. I'm just too lazy and/or broke to go out and by a Swiss-German dictionary!

000

**Chapter 12**

They reached Zurich by mid afternoon. Yuna was dozing in the truck when his voice, low and tense, woke her up.

"We're here."

She sat up and saw the city's skyline approaching in the distance, and the now-familiar rush of adrenaline caused a ripple to pass through her. There was no guarantee that they would find anything that could be used to help clear their names, but if that bank vault was important enough to have the number inserted in the back of her companion's head, then they were bound to find _something_. Licking her lips, she turned to look at him, curious to see if his expression would reveal any of the turmoil he would surely be feeling.

He was staring ahead, his features perfectly neutral, trained to be still. His knuckles on the steering wheel, however, were white, and Yuna was certain that she could see his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching. She reached out and put her hand on his knee, squeezing gently. He glanced at her and tried to smile.

"I'd like to say that we're going to be just fine," he said, lowering a hand over hers. "But I really don't know if that's the case."

"At least then we will know," she offered. "That is better than all this secrecy and guessing."

He hesitated, and then reached over to rest an arm over hers. "Yuna, I want you to make me a promise."

Something about his voice made her glance up at him sharply. She pulled back enough to catch his eye. "What is it?"

"I know that I already owe you so much, and I shouldn't be asking for more favours –"

"What _is _it?" she asked again. It felt like he knew something dark and awful that she did not, and she hated that feeling.

He hesitated for a moment. "In case something happens to me . . . well, if it turns out that I do have a family somewhere out there . . ." he continued. "Would you find them? And . . . I don't know, tell them about me?"

It sounded like he had already made plans to die. She leaned back against him protectively, closing her eyes. "Of course, I promise. But nothing is going to happen to you, so it's no use being so dramatic."

His body vibrated with a deep chuckle. "I'll keep that in mind."

She frowned slightly, keeping her eyes closed. This conversation bothered her, but she had to have the last word. "Don't die, okay?"

His lips came down to kiss the top of her head, but he did not reply.

000

Ever cautious, they abandoned the truck in an underground parking lot a few blocks away from the _Paradeplatz_, the square of Zurich. He was almost sad to let go of it; the truck had felt like a haven for all those long hours, a little world of their own. It felt similar to the underground compartment in Maechan's house. He was a little worried about leaving the guns behind as well, but he knew that walking into a high-security bank with a couple of handguns stowed away was far from a good idea. There was no choice in the matter – he and Yuna just had to be extra careful.

He hadn't fully prepared himself for the sight of those gleaming steel and glass doors. The brass address jumped out at him like a beacon, calling him forward. The building's exterior looked like it was built in the late 19th century or early 20th. Like most things in Europe, though, it had probably been remodeled on the inside. He wracked his brains for anything familiar, anything that linked him to this place, but nothing came. He was a stranger with no name in a foreign place heading towards a giant question mark that may or may not get him killed, and the woman with him as well. No matter how many times he contemplated the situation, it still baffled him as to how he had ended up here.

Then Yuna laced her cool fingers with his, and he could feel her light pulse quicken as they drew nearer to the bank. He squeezed her hand appreciatively. If nothing else, he had her. She'd had countless opportunities to back out and run to the police, or simply abandon him and try to salvage what she could of her old life. But she didn't. She chose to stay, by some miracle or blessing. That had to count for something.

Entering the bank was like stepping into another world. The lobby was cold and bright, an ivory and green marble chamber that was remarkably silent when they stepped in. He was instantly wary of the two guards armed with G36 rifles, but neither of them even acknowledged when he and Yuna walked in through the doors. There were cameras everywhere, but there was nothing he could do but angle his face so that they wouldn't capture him directly.

The woman at the counter glanced up and waved them forward, looking almost bored. "_Mag ich Ihnen helfen?_" she asked.

And then he discovered he could speak German. The knowledge startled him for a moment, but he masked it and replied as casually as he could, "_Ja, möchte ich meine Wölbung zugänglich machen, bitte._" The language, like French, felt oddly comfortable to him, as though he had speaking it for years.

Yuna looked at him curiously for a second, but then, as he, did quickly disguised her surprise and tried to act normally. Nodding, the woman behind the counter handed him a pad of paper and a ridiculously expensive-looking pen, asking for his account number. He wrote down the numbers that had been burned in his memory since that day in Aix-en-Provence, when he smashed the device under foot.

The woman then called in a sharply-dressed assistant via intercom and instructed him to grab a key card and escort them up to the vault. They were led to an elevator off to the side of the lobby, and as soon as the doors closed, Yuna turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"German?" she queried. He smiled a little and shrugged.

"News to me, too. I didn't realize it until she spoke first," he replied, wondering how much English the assistant could understand. Judging by the fact that the young man didn't seem to be paying much attention, he doubted it was a lot.

Yuna sighed and shook her head. "I wonder what a normal day is like in your life."

He chuckled a little. "You and me both." After a moment of silence, another thought occurred to him and he turned back to her. "Aren't you claustrophobic?"

She blinked and then laughed softly in amazement. "It's strange, but . . . after what happened at Maechan's, I think I'm okay now. Who knew that's all it would take? I should have done that sooner!" He stared down at her for a second, and then felt an almost overwhelming wave of affection. With complete disregard for the assistant in front of them, he leaned down and kissed her temple. She looked a little surprised, but she grinned with pleasure nevertheless.

"Fourth floor, sir," the assistant said in German, grabbing their attention immediately. The doors slid open and he led them out to the security check, a long hallway with various armed guards posted here and there. There were no visible cameras, but he had a feeling that there were many, many hidden ones. Before departing, the assistant handed him the key card and gave the piece of paper with account number to one of the guards.

"They won't let more than one person access a vault at a time," he said to Yuna as the assistant disappeared behind the elevator doors. "Can I borrow your bag? Just in case I see something worth taking."

Looking somewhat disappointed, she consented. With Yuna's brown corduroy bag over his shoulder, he approached the first station, a print reading machine. Trying to look as though he did this sort of thing all the time, he placed his right hand on a flat computerized panel that instantly began scanning his fingerprints. A few seconds later he was cleared to proceed to the next security check. The metal detector, similar to what one would find in an airport, remained silent when he passed through it. Then the guard that had been given the account number escorted him through a door and down a hall towards the vault area.

000

The entire room was completely silent. Every pair of eyes was fixed on Seymour. He glanced at Lynwood, who nodded once and gave him thumbs up. Then he took a deep, indiscernible breath and began dialing.

000

It was one of the longest walks in his life. Every footstep seemed to take an eternity, and he could hardly keep from dashing ahead for himself. He had to remain calm. There were cameras in this hallway. _Have to remain calm_.

The guard stopped at a vast steel door and punched in a security code before turning to speak for the first time. "You have five minutes," he stated, obviously having had to say it hundreds of times before. "If you need more time, just ask. But let's not take all day, _ja_?"

He nodded briefly, not trusting himself to use his voice. _Five minutes to figure out who you are._ The steel door slid open slowly, and he marched through it with more conviction than he felt. As soon as the door closed behind him and he was left standing in that large metallic room by himself, he let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

All four walls were made up of individual vaults, roughly the size of file cabinet drawers with brass numbers welded to the front under the steel handle. There were no cameras in this room.

His eyes roamed the numbers until he found his account number and crossed over to it, hardly able to keep his fingers from shaking. He pulled out the drawer and carried it over to a table in the middle of the room. The key card slipped easily into a slot on the side of the box, and a little green light flashed, indicating that it was now unlocked. He slid aside the metal lid and looked down into the contents of his life.

The first thing he saw was a stack of passports, numbering eleven in total, all from different countries. The United States. Canada. France. Germany. Spain. Russia. Even the Czech Republic. He grabbed a handful and flipped through them, startled to see his face staring back from four of them. The others were men he didn't recognize – presumably other agents. Ignoring these, he reached for the American passport and scanned for a name.

Tidus Raines.

A strange calm descended on him. There it was, printed neatly next to his ID photo. American, aged 26, Caucasian, blond hair, blue eyes. Currently living in Paris. He raised an eyebrow at that, wondering why he was stationed in Paris, of all places. But at least that explained why he was fluent in French.

_My name is Tidus Raines._ It didn't matter what names he might find on those other passports; this would be the name that stuck with him for the rest of his life. The name that would carve him out of anonymity and give him a foundation, a place that was undeniably his. This is who he was now. The name Yuna would know him by.

He threw the passport into Yuna's bag and for the first time took notice of the money. A _lot_ of money. He stared down in astonishment at what had to be around one million dollars in American bills and in Euros before gathering all the bundles dumping them into the bag as well. He owed Yuna, after all.

Next he noticed an unmarked file folder, tucked away at the bottom of the box. The sight of it brought on a feeling of unease. Something about it looked decidedly sinister to him, and he couldn't explain why, but somehow he knew that it was important. Vital. Everything. Nervously he pulled it out and flipped it open. All he saw was row after row of names, accompanied by dates and what appeared to be price numbers and other bank account numbers. The list went on and on, reaching as far back as nineteen years. The sheer amount of information was enough to make him dizzy. As the dates drew closer and closer to the present, the feeling of dread began to intensify as pieces of the puzzle began falling into place.

And then a phone rang.

He was so startled that he nearly dropped the folder. The ringing was loud and piercing, and it was definitely coming from the box. Trembling, he shuffled around until his fingers closed around a black satellite phone. Anything powerful enough to glean a signal out of a giant metal room was bound to be military technology. He held it up and with only one second of hesitation, he hit the receive button.

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"Someone who has a bone to pick with you, Raines," the voice on the other end replied tersely. "You've been making a few people angry – namely me – and I think it's time we have a little chat."

"You're the one who sent those men after me," Tidus said, feeling for a moment that his heart had actually stopped beating.

"Yes, and you're the one who blew their brains out. We're done with intros. I want to know why the hell you're standing in a private bank vault in Zurich, where you are sure as hell _not_ supposed to be."

"This account number was lodged in the back of my fucking head!" Tidus snapped. "I came to find out why. Until one minute ago I didn't even know my own name."

There was a moment of silence. "What are you talking about?"

"Three days ago, I woke up in a Marseille hospital. Beyond that, I can't remember a goddamn thing," Tidus went on, swallowing heavily. "So why are you chasing me? Who are you?"

"You failed a mission, boy," The voice stated coldly, ignoring the last question. "You botched the whole thing, ran away, and didn't check back with headquarters for damage control. Basically, you fucked up. That makes our investors just a little bit nervous."

"Investors?" Tidus asked, glancing down at the bank account numbers next to the names on the list.

"You see," the other man continued, "when we say we're going to use their money to get a certain job done, that means we do it. When it doesn't get done, that makes me look bad. When I look bad, I get pissed off. And when I get pissed off, things get ugly."

"So I have to die because I refused to kill someone." He was starting to wonder how much time he had left before the guard came back.

"What makes you so sure you simply refused?"

"Because I managed to kill every other agent you sent after me. I was stronger, faster, and more adept with or without a weapon than any of them. How could I possibly have 'failed'?" he asked, beginning to pace around the room. "I think I faced facts. I think I stopped wanting to kill people for a living. So I walked away."

"You don't just _walk away_ from something like this," the man on the other end snarled. "Right now you are in the presence of some very . . . sensitive material. How do I know you're not going to traipse off and play show and tell with it?"

A knock on the door made Tidus jump. On the other side, he heard the guard begin punching in the code to open it.

"I don't care what you say. I'm done with you, whoever you are. I am walking away from all of this and I had better not feel anyone breathing down the back of my neck, or else you know what happens."

000

For a moment Seymour simply held the phone against his ear, listening to the dial tone as though he could still hear Raines' voice through it. Then he wordlessly hung up and stared ahead in deep thought, ignoring the tense crowd of people around him. They had all heard the conversation through the tracker on the main comp screen.

At long last Seymour turned to Miss Welsh. "Any records of amnesia among the men?" he asked with a heavy sigh. Rikku shook her head slowly, still looking somewhat stunned.

"No. If he's telling the truth . . . it's a first for us."

He stared down at the silent phone in his hand for a moment. "This changes a few things. Lynwood." His associate looked up at him with a knowing expression. "Call our Swiss connections. Raines and that woman are _not_ leaving that building unless they're in handcuffs. I want some answers."

000

_Mag ich Ihnen helfen _– May I help you?

_Ja, möchte ich meine Wölbung zugänglich machen, bitte_ – Yes, I would like to access my vault, please.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Tidus switched off the phone and stared down at it in his hand for a moment, running the conversation he'd just ended through his mind. He couldn't decide what alarmed him more – the fact that he had just hung up on perhaps the only person alive who could really tell him who he was, or the fact that he suddenly didn't care. How much did he want to know about himself anyway? He killed people for a living – that in itself was bad enough. Was there a need to dig any deeper? Were there any other deep dark secrets lurking under the surface? It was simpler, so much simpler, to start fresh with a new identity. He could be anything, anyone he wanted, and with all the money suddenly in his possession, he go anywhere in the world. He doubted he would be able to settle in just one place for the rest of his life, but maybe it could be a life of _some _kind. Maybe with Yuna. Maybe she'd want to run with him . . .

He let out a small, humourless laugh. God help him for being so stupid.

No way in hell he would ever be safe, not as long as he was breathing, no matter where he went and how hard he ran. They would never stop hunting him. This would never be over, and probably never would be until he was dead. And Yuna would probably be cut down in the crossfire, probably before he would, just so that his last moments alive would be plagued with guilt and loss. They could make it happen. It would be a final parting shot, a cruel lesson taught long after it was needed.

At that moment, the giant metal door began to slowly open from the outside, and he didn't have time to ponder anymore. He hastily stuffed the phone into the bag he borrowed from Yuna – now bulging – and shouldered the strap as the guard poked his head into the room.

"Ready?" he asked in a very bored tone. Tidus nodded wordlessly and moved towards the door, doing his best to keep his hands from shaking. He desperately wanted to speak with Yuna and appreciated the guard's quick pace as they made their way down the hall.

They were almost at the door to the processing room when the guard's cell phone rang. He stopped short and deigned to give Tidus a cursory apologetic look before answering it.

"_Hallo?_"

Tidus watched the guard's face closely; it went suddenly grim, and his entire body shifted almost indiscernibly into a tenser posture. Tidus strained his ears to hear the speaker on the other end, but the voice was too quiet.

And then he understood. He wasn't meant to hear the entire conversation, because the speaker was talking about _him_. Why else would they have called the guard's cell phone rather than use his radio, where they could both hear the arrest order?

"_Ich sehe. Verstanden_." The guard hung up and turned to face him. "Sir, I need you to come with m –"

Tidus silenced him with a sharp hit to the throat, and then knocked him senseless, catching him as the man fell. Carefully he lowered him onto the floor, silent so as not to alert the guards outside. He took the two glock 26s from the fallen guard's holsters, noting in a detached sort of way how comfortable he felt with the cold metallic weight in each hand, how ready he was to use them.

He reached the door at the end of the hallway and recalled that there were at least fifteen armed men out there, but since it was still quiet, he felt safe enough to assume that the same order had not filtered down to them. If they had tried to apprehend Yuna, she would have screamed or given him some kind of warning. The thought made his stomach squirm.

There was no point in trying to be quiet about this. He might as well go out, guns blazing, and use the element of surprise to take out as many as he could in order to get to Yuna. If she was still sitting where he'd left her, she would not be too far away from the door. With any luck, the guards would be too shocked to react fast enough. He checked the magazines in each gun and noted with a breath of relief that both were full.

Motionless for only one second longer, he sent up a wordless prayer to whatever powers that be and then kicked the door open.

000

Yuna jumped.

Less than a second after the door leading to the vaults banged open there came a storm of gunshots echoing painfully in her ears, and without thinking she threw herself down from the metal bench she had been assigned to. Her vision sideways, she saw six of the fifteen or so armed guards fall with blood spattering the floor around them. Only then did she realize that the bullets were coming from the two handguns in her companion's grasp.

The remaining guards were at first too startled to do anything other than duck for cover. Using this, Yuna's companion started making his way over to her, guns still held at the ready, eyes scanning for any available targets. He was careful; there was no need to shoot recklessly, wasting bullets as though they would never run out. He watched, and waited for signs of movement, and fired only then with alarming precision. She watched him move closer with a familiar pang, stricken by the deadly calm look on his face. It was the same expression he had back on the train when he dispatched their attackers, and it frightened her almost as much as it comforted her. Still watching for the guards, he slipped off the bag she leant him earlier and slid it on the ground towards her. She grabbed for it pulled it tightly against her.

Safely behind some form of cover, the guards began firing back. Someone was shouting frantic German into a radio, answered by a crackling voice on the other end. The blond stranger in their midst quickly backed up behind a counter and motioned for Yuna to stay put, somewhat unnecessarily. She had no intention of moving, and hugged the bag even closer to her body. A loud alarm bell sounded off, signaling that the Swiss police would soon be on her way. Yuna felt her heart sink and the very real possibility dawned on her that this could be it. This could be the end for them.

When there was a momentary lull in gunfire as the guards paused to reload, her companion moved out from behind the counter and sought out a new hiding place, closer to his targets. Yuna bit her lip and watched as he aimed and shot true, hitting the first guard to raise his head right between the eyes. She felt suddenly sick. The room smelled like hot iron and blood, and all she could do was let her cheek rest on the cool marble of the floor to keep her head from spinning.

He was never still. He moved like a ghost, silently and always just out of their sight, keeping low to the floor and taking advantage of every possible cover in the room. Suddenly Yuna could no longer see him, and a wave of panic hit her, and she strained her ears to hear his single handgun shots among the rain of machinegun fire. As long as she could hear those individual bullets flying, she knew he was alive.

A startled cry followed by a gruesome crunch and bodily thud announced that he had snuck up on one of the men and broke his neck – odd how familiar that sound was becoming. Another blow landed a few seconds later, and another man fell. It was all happening so fast. Yuna allowed herself a single, audacious glimmer of hope to rise up. Maybe, just maybe, they could get out of this. Maybe. _Please, God_ . . .

A few seconds went by and she realized with a start that the noise was lessening. There were fewer and fewer men firing back. Then another minute passed and suddenly the bullets stopped, and the last guard standing collapsed with a gurgle and keeled over.

Yuna released the shuddering breath she had been holding and crawled unsteadily out from her hiding place. At the other end of the room, he turned to face her, his chest heaving ever so slightly. Their eyes met across the divide and then he suddenly dropped his handguns, looking as though half the life in him had just been sucked out. Swallowing tightly, Yuna clutched the bag tightly and hurried over to him, refusing to look at all the dead men littering the floor around her. She nearly slipped on a streak of blood and fought down the urge to throw up, choosing instead to keep moving until suddenly his hand reached out and grabbed hers.

"You okay?" he asked, inspecting her face closely as he held his hand out to take back the bag.

"I'm alright," she lied, handing the burden over to him. Only then did she realize that there was a bit of blood on him, and her gaze honed in on it fearfully.

"It's not mine," he told her, stooping to pick up a new weapon. The closest body yielded another handgun as well as a machinegun and even a knife. He took them all. "We gotta go."

She nodded and followed him as he finished arming himself and headed towards the door, inwardly bracing herself for whatever they might encounter beyond it. The alarm was still ringing, but she hardly noticed it anymore.

Out in the hall, he grabbed a fire exit sign off the wall, which had a schematic of the building on it. As he moved, his eyes scanned it for the quickest escape route, noting their current location. Yuna shadowed him as closely as possible, her gaze roving the hall around them fearfully. She could hear boots tromping up the stairs and someone shouting orders in German – either more guards, or the police.

"This way," he said shortly, tossing the sign away.

Her hand found his through a will of its own, and he pulled her down another hallway with a small window overlooking an alley at the end. He reached the window and immediately shoved it open, ignoring the sudden gust of wind outside that made Yuna shiver.

"We have to climb down," he told her, moving aside so she could get out first. She wedged herself through until she froze. "We're high up, but –"

"_Mon Dieu,_" she whispered, transfixed by the drop that greeted her. It was probably not a good time to tell him that she was afraid of heights as well. "This . . . I cannot, it is too –"

"We don't have time!" he cut her off sharply. "We can't afford to freeze up right now."

She nearly screamed when he shoved her the rest of the way out, keeping his hand on her wrist so that she did not fall. Her feet dangled over a vast oblivion for a moment before her brain reconnected with her limbs. She couldn't help but release a small whimper as she scrambled for some support. Still clinging to the sill, she lowered herself until her toes landed on a slightly protruding ridge – part of the building's old-fashioned architecture. As soon as she felt it underfoot she began inching over to make room for him, trying desperately not to look down or even think of looking down. He let go of her and she shut her eyes, willing herself not to slip and fall as he maneuvered his way down to her side.

"Okay. There's a fire escape around the corner and down a bit," he said, speaking quickly but in a gentler tone. "It's not too far, but we have to move fast. They're already on this floor."

Yuna nodded, digging her fingers into the concrete to keep them from shaking. The wind was picking up, tugging at her clothes and pushing her hair in her face. She tried to ignore it but she was suddenly aware of everything around her. His silence, her pounding heart, the adrenaline pumping through her body, the cold sweat on her skin, the bite of the wind, the traffic on the street nearby, the police cars lined up at the curb, the pigeons cooing on the roof . . .

His hand on her lower back brought her back to reality. "You can do this," he told her quietly. "Remember the box in Maechan's basement? You got through that in one piece, didn't you?"

She took a deep, calming breath before she finally forced herself to move. Slowly, achingly, she pulled herself along the ridge, keeping her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her. The windowsill disappeared and was replaced by a deep groove in the mold, offering a more solid handhold.

"That's it," he said encouragingly. "You're doing fine. You're doing good. All right, listen, I'm going to drop down to the ground and –"

Yuna's head snapped around to face him with wide, horrified eyes. "_What_?" she demanded. "You're _leaving_ me up here?"

"Right now we're sitting ducks, Yuna," he told her firmly, warning her with his tone to keep it down. "They can pick us off easily. If we split up, they'll come after me first. I'm the one they really want. And besides, by the time you get down I'll have found us a car and we can get out of here fast. Trust me." He reached over and touched the side of her face, his gaze softening. "It'll be okay."

She stared at him pleadingly. He pursed his lips for a moment before reaching into his back pocket and bringing out the knife he took from the dead guard. "Don't be afraid to use this, if you have to. It's us or them."

Taking another life was against everything she believed in, but the weight of the knife in her jeans made her feel a little better –more in control. She sighed shakily and nodded. "Yes. You're right."

He leaned forward and kissed her, before pulling back enough to look her in the eye. "You'll be fine, I promise. Now go. Get to the fire escape."

The young woman nodded again, remembering the warmth of his lips on hers as she turned her head away. If she watched him jump down, she knew she would get sick and fall herself. Instead she listened. He let go of the ledge and dropped down a level before she heard him grab onto another handhold, grunting mutely with the effort of holding himself up. He kept going, grabbing every little crack and fissure that came his way and swinging himself down until he landed softly on the pavement below. She would have enjoyed watching such a display of grace and agility were the situation not so urgent. Yuna closed her eyes fearfully and kept moving, desperately waiting to round that corner and find stairs waiting for her. He stayed where he was and watched her for a moment before he took off to find a car.

She kept going, and at last she reached the corner. Bolder, she began to move faster and made her way around to the other side. The fire escape was so close, closer than she had anticipated, and relief flooded through her as she drew nearer. At last she was close enough to reach the cold metal rail and she immediately latched onto it before climbing onto the ladder.

"_Halt!_"

She went completely still, not needing to turn and face the window leading into the building to know that there were several guns aimed at her back. Her body stiffened as the cop who called out to her clambered onto the fire escape, backed by at least six others with their weapons at the ready. She did not react as he grabbed her and bound her wrists behind her with white plastic. She did not react when he began reading her rights with a thick, barely discernable accent. She did not react when they frisked her for weapons and took her knife away. She did not react when he forced her forward down the ladder. She did not react when he pushed her into the back of a squad car.

Only when the bank disappeared from sight down the street did she swallow her shock and burst into uncontrollable tears.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

From an alley across the street, Tidus watched the police cars drive off and felt the world falling away underfoot. His body was paralyzed, yet somehow he was in the backseat with Yuna, feeling every shred of fear and betrayal and despair that she must have been feeling with an intensity that positively paralyzed him.

He left her. He left her all alone and she was gone, gone, going, never coming back, and it was _all his fault_.

For what felt like a long time – really, only seconds – all he could do was crouch in place, hidden from sight, and feel that terrible emptiness spreading through his gut and into his chest. He tossed her to the lions and watched them drag her away into their cave. He might as well have been the one to put a bullet to her head. And he hadn't even told her his name.

But then, without warning, his anguish disappeared, only to be replaced by a sweeping anger that left him breathless and trembling, fists clenched, blind to the brick wall across from him. He was suddenly up on his feet and running, hardly aware of the bag struggling to weigh him down, focusing instead on finding a car as fast as humanly possible.

The nearest car was a rather nice silver one, sleek in design and fairly new. Too damn bad. His elbow smashed through the window without a second thought, and a heartbeat later he was under the wheel with several wires in hand, ignoring the startled people on the sidewalk. When the engine sprang to life, he roared off down the street. His hand scrambled around for a map of the city, eventually finding it in the dashboard. He spread the paper over the wheel and his eyes alternated between watching the road and scanning the map for various routes to the police station. That would be the most likely destination. They would process her, keep her in a holding cell, and then someone – probably Kelk, or an associate of his – would intercept the arrest and take her to wherever it is they were operating from. His hands tightened on the leather of the wheel and he shifted gears, now racing through traffic like a deranged blur.

He caught up with the cop cars faster than he had anticipated – they had been following the same track he had been to get to the station. Quickly he veered off down a side street, one that paralleled the main road, hoping to cut them off. If there was a way to stop them before reaching the precinct, he was going to do it; the idea of attacking a station full of cops was not a particularly appealing one.

Instead he drove faster and swerved down another alley, heading right for the head of the cop car procession. He stopped at the entrance and kept his head down, watching for the car Yuna had been put in. He wasn't sure exactly what he planned to do, and hoped a brilliant scheme would hit him upon seeing her.

As the cars went by one by one, a frown creased his forehead. So far he hadn't seen Yuna in any of the backseats, and the end of the line was fast approaching. If his growing suspicions were correct, she'd be in the very last one. He watched and waited. Three cars left. No sign of her. Two cars left. Still nothing. That left door number three.

He decided not to think too hard on what he was doing. Suddenly he was slamming his foot on the gas and rocketing forward into the street, ramming the front end of the cop car at top speed, praying he had not miscalculated. Had he stopped to think about it, he would have found a dozen reasons to talk himself out of it, and Yuna did not have that kind of time on her hands. Options were limited.

The impact would have killed him, or at least critically injured him, had he not opened the door and rolled out moments before his vehicle smashed magnificently into the target. The front side crumpled with a deafening crash, while the tail end swung out and knocked out a fire hydrant, sending a geyser of water in the air. There was an instant pile up as traffic behind didn't stop in time, and the cop cars in the front screeched to a halt before the police hurried out, guns at the ready. People on the sidewalks screamed and then crowded closer for a better look, and there was a flurry of cell phones dialing and people shouting above the noise for someone to call an ambulance.

Tidus had already crept up to the side of the car he had slammed into and yanked open the back door, which had manage to avoid being rutted shut permanently. Yuna blinked up at him in a daze, a bloody gash on her temple giving him a momentary pause. There were shards of glass all over the back seat, some of which nicked her along the way down. She didn't look badly hurt, but she was definitely shaken, and he couldn't help noticing that there were tears on her face. He reached in and grabbed her, guiding her hands to a sharp bit of steel left exposed after the collision so he could cut the white plastic off her wrists.

Seconds later he wrenched her upright and kept her pinned at his side as he ducked away from the street, using the chaos around him to his advantage. She was still too shocked to speak, and seemed to be totally bewildered. Tidus set his jaw grimly and led her back into the alley, remembering the manhole cover he had passed over earlier. Sewers were anything but pleasant, but even if the police decided to check it out, there were endless tunnels and corridors to escape through. It would take them hours to track the two of them down, and Tidus had no intention of staying in Zurich that long.

He rounded the corner, relieved that Yuna was becoming more aware and picking up the pace. The cops were still too busy checking on their injured comrades – probably dead – and attempting to calm the scene. But it wouldn't be long before they started the chase. Halfway through the alley, the manhole appeared and Tidus dropped down to shove the lid aside, grateful for the adrenalin fuelling him. Yuna did not even hesitate to drop down the ladder, though her hands were shaking and Tidus wondered if she would be able to keep from falling. He followed after her, closing the lid above him just as a few cops were about to round the corner.

The smell was awful, but he had prepared himself for that. At least it was relatively dry on the ledge above the underground river of dark, discoloured water. He landed on the pavement beside her and paused to let his eyes adjust for a moment before grabbing Yuna's arm and dragging her down the tunnel. He guessed they were heading north, but the knowledge didn't offer him anything to go on. He had a flickering memory of the city map he'd scanned in the car, but there was no particular place he could think of heading towards. For a while he just concentrated on getting as lost as possible, as far away from the cops as they could get.

After about six minutes of silent running, he finally noticed Yuna's laboured breath and sluggish gait. He slowed down and eventually stopped in a small alcove to let her catch her second wind.

"We'll just rest here a minu –"

Her hand met his cheek with a resonating smack, stunning him into silence. Her rage had finally caught up with her, and he could practically feel the electricity crackling around her.

"You son of a _bitch_," she snarled, in a tone he would not have imagined she possessed. "You left me. You _left_ me."

It took him a moment to collect himself. "I'm sorry," he told her, wincing more at the venom in her voice rather than the sting of her handprint. "It was stupid of me."

"After all I . . . all the times I could have . . ." she went on, waving her hands wildly. "And you just . . . _bastard_!"

"It won't happen again," he said sincerely, wanting to reach out and touch her but fearing to. "I promise you, never again. I'm so sorry, Yuna."

She didn't say anything. In the dark, he could only dimly make out her features, but he could see her eyes blazing into his. Her breath was quick and shallow, and he could imagine her fists balled up at her sides. He swallowed and licked his lips.

"Please forgive me," he tried, too anxious to care about the tremour in his voice.

Still she remained silent, and the sudden notion that she might try to leave him sent a cold wave of dread through his body. "Please . . ."

He heard her take a deep, shuddering breath and he saw the glimmer of tears on her face once again. "I-I thought you were abandoning me," she whispered. "I was so scared that you . . . that you might have left me behind."

His heart must have shattered at that moment. There was no other way to explain the sudden, almost crippling pain in his chest. "Never," he said hoarsely, reaching for her at last. "Never, never, _never_."

She did not protest or pull away, much to his relief. Her arms encircled him so tightly that he could hardly breathe, but he only squeezed her back even more. He rested his chin on top of her head and he closed his eyes, wondering at how close he came to losing her.

"My name's Tidus," he said quietly, rubbing broad circles in her back with one hand. She pulled away enough to meet his gaze and stared up at him thoughtfully, before nodding. He cleared his throat, feeling vulnerable and exposed under her eyes. "We've got a lot to talk about," he went on.

Without answering, she went up on her toes, signaling for a kiss. He pressed his lips against hers, softly at first, but then she deepened it and he felt her backing herself up against the wall, dragging him with her. Her fingers moved under his shirt and she raked her nails down his stomach, making him gasp. He had not been expecting to be turned on by it, but he could feel himself responding even as the marks still burned. Their lips met again, more fiercely than before. She bit him, hard. He let her, knowing this was reckless and stupid, and not at all romantic, but not caring in the slightest. She tugged at his jeans and he obeyed without hesitation, unbuttoning and pushing them down along with his underwear as she shimmied hers down as well. He wedged her between himself and the concrete wall, lifting her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist.

It was quick and heated and full of sorrow, and forgiveness. When they were done she cupped his face between her hands and pulled him down for another kiss, the last tender moment they could share before the need to move again took over.

000

Somehow, after they finally emerged from the sewers, they found themselves in a small hotel in the town of Appenzell, close to the Swiss-Austrian border. It had been a two and a half hour drive from Zurich, once they found a car, and that was after the hour they spent running through the underground tunnels to throw off any police pursuit. Had it not been for the fact that the sun was only just beginning to set, Yuna would have guessed that they had been moving for over a day. She was exhausted, starving, and she was acutely aware of the smell clinging to her clothes. On her thirty-seventh yawn, Tidus – strange to finally have a name to call him – pulled into the hotel parking lot and insisted that they get some rest. But after showering, changing into fresh clothes, and ordering room service, Yuna was suddenly incurably eager to learn about what her companion had discovered in the vault. During the drive she had been dozing on and off, so he remained silent with his thoughts. Now, however, there was nothing to stop them from pouring over his findings together.

They sat at a small round oak table in their room, with the contents of Yuna's bag strewn across the surface. After they counted the enormous wealth now in their possession – 500 000 Euros and 500 000 in US dollars – they turned their attention to the folder of names, dates, money counts, and bank account numbers. The list was so massive that neither of them really knew where to begin. They decided to split the list in half – Tidus took the first portion, and Yuna took the second. The dates went as far back as forty years ago, and most of the names were foreign and unfamiliar. Yuna recognized a couple, but she could not place exactly who they were.

"This is hopeless," she sighed, throwing her papers down. "How are we supposed to know what we are looking at? All I see are names and numbers."

Tidus didn't reply, apparently too deep in thought. Yuna chewed her bottom lip and picked the papers up again, slightly embarrassed at her outburst. If he could be quiet and concentrate, then so could she.

But then her eyes landed on a particular name and she felt her blood freeze. "Oh my God."

Her companion looked up, noting her expression and voice. "What is it?"

"Look at this name," she said, pointing to it and showing the paper to him. "Bernard de Chaplaine. He was a friend of my father's in the French cabinet. He died seven months ago in a plane crash just outside of Toulouse."

Tidus frowned and took the list from her, his eyes boring into the information. Bernard de Chaplaine. 10/10/07. 250 000. 461-573-0906. "In a plane crash?"

"That's what it said on the news. Some sort of engine failure, I believe."

"I'm not so sure that's the case."

He stared down at the name for a long time, and Yuna could see the gears in his mind working, searching for any shred of familiarity. When he put the paper down and sighed, dropping his head into his hands, she reached over and put her hand on his knee.

"We'll figure this out," she said quietly. "I know we will."

"I think I just did," he replied grimly. "This looks like a kill record."

"A . . . a what?" Yuna asked, even though the name was self-evident. "You mean a . . ."

"Every person 'my company' was hired to kill. It's all here. This is my legacy we're looking at," he elaborated, standing up suddenly and moving to pace around the room. He kept throwing glances over at the document, like all he wanted was to be as far away from it as possible.

Yuna's heart twisted painfully. "All those names . . ." she whispered, resting her hand on the folder.

"I must have been a good, loyal worker," he growled, looking like a caged tiger the way he was circling the room. "A true soldier. How many of those names am I responsible for, I wonder? If I'm such a goddamn pro, I bet I was 'employee of the month'. _Fuck_, I must have just loved that."

"Stop that," she ordered, closing her eyes.

"I probably had no spine, no mind of my own. They asked me to jump, I probably asked how high. Hell, there must not have been a single order I'd disobey for those bastards," he went on, as if deaf to her.

"You didn't kill my father, did you?" she demanded, jumping to her feet. "And when you probably had a chance to shoot me as well, you didn't. So what does that say about you? _Dites-moi!_"

He pulled up short and gaped at her for a moment before he seemed able to calm himself. "I don't know. I don't know what happened that night, or why I . . . why I couldn't . . ."

Yuna sighed and rose to her feet.

"It's not a question of 'couldn't, Tidus," she said gently, walking over to him and taking his hands in hers. "We both know you had the power to do it. The truth is that you made the choice not to, for whatever reason. And _that_ is who you are. Right here and now, with me. This is the real you. I don't know how many times I have to tell you before you'll see."

For a long time he simply gazed at her, making her feel that familiar warmth in the pit of her stomach with the look in his eyes. Then he squeezed her hands and looked down at them as if in disbelief that they were in his grasp.

"I must have known," he said quietly.

"Known what?"

"When I saw you on your boat, with your father. I must have known how you . . . that I'd fall –"

A loud, sudden knock at the door shocked them both into reality. Tidus sighed a little and opened it up to accept the room service, leaving Yuna to stand there with a racing heart, staring into the space where he had just been standing.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Wakka was hunched over the kitchen table, nursing a mug of old coffee at five in the evening, when the telephone rang. As he had been for the last few days, he leapt to his feet with surprising speed for a man his size and scrambled to answer it.

"_Allo_?" he breathed into the receiver, sensing Lulu entering the kitchen behind him.

"Officer Wakka Renoire?" a deep voice intoned, speaking French with a slightly unpolished American accent.

"_Oui_."

"This is Agent Kelk, with the CIA. I've been called in to help with the case involving your friend, Miss Savard."

He frowned over his shoulder at Lulu, who was dressed only in her red silk bathrobe, and mouthed 'CIA' to her. She raised an eyebrow in response. "What can I do for you?"

"I can imagine this has been a very stressful time for you," Kelk went on, somehow managing to come across as sincere. Wakka was surprised at that. "And I know it seems that the police are after Yuna in hopes of arresting her. But I want to assure you that this is far from true. We know that she is no criminal. The wanted posters were not my idea, nor am I particularly pleased that they were allowed to circulate that way."

"But that man she's traveling with . . ." the redhead sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Lulu's cool hands landed on his shoulders, kneading the muscles gently. He knew that it was partly to comfort him, and partly so that she could listen in on the conversation.

Kelk seemed to hesitate. "His story is complicated, to say the least, not to mention highly classified. I would tell you more, but I think it would be best if we focused on Yuna. She is our best chance of getting our hands on him."

Wakka could almost hear the way Lulu rolled her eyes behind him, and he couldn't help but curl his lip slightly. "So you want me to tell you as much as I can about her to help you out. _Oui_?"

"It would oblige me, yes." This Kelk person was certainly more direct that other men of his breed. He didn't bluster or try to put on airs, which Wakka had not been expecting. "Any information you have might go a long way to solving this."

"Listen, I want to find Yuna more than anyone – she's been like a sister to me for the last three years – but the truth is, there isn't much to say," he said with a shrug. "She's a quiet girl who leads a simple life. Or . . . well, she did until a few days ago, anyway. She never talked about her family, or her life before coming to Marseille. That's the truth, _monsieur._ I really can't tell you much."

"I see." If the man was disappointed, he did a good job of hiding it. "Well, let me leave you a contact number, in case you think of something."

Wakka scrawled down some numbers on the back of his hand, said _au revoir_, and hung up the phone. Turning around, he automatically opened his arms to Lulu and pulled her to his chest, breathing in the smell of her shampoo. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and he could feel her naked curves hiding just beneath the thin silk of her robe.

"What is that girl thinking?" he murmured, resting his cheek on her head. They had been asking each other this question a lot lately. "What on earth possessed her to run off with someAmerican?"

"I would say that she is running off with a lover – and God knows she could use passion in her life – but running off with a fugitive? She is not that foolish." Lulu slipped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes. "There is more going here. The government is after this boy, and they'll do anything to get to him, even if it means Yuna gets hurt along the way. Of that, I have no doubt."

He squeezed her just a bit tighter.

000

Evening descended, and though Tidus was suddenly weary from all the revelations of the day, he knew there was no way he would be able to sleep any time soon. The days seemed to blur together in his mind. It was hard for him to believe that he had only been on the run for three days. It felt like a lifetime; though, he supposed, since he didn't remember anything before this whole mess, it really was the only lifetime he knew.

He watched Yuna clear away the dishes from their room service and bring them over to the sink. The idea that he hadn't known this woman for ages seemed odd to him. His best and only friend of three days. She caught his eye and smiled fondly at him, and he felt a stir in his heart that was becoming more and more familiar as time went on. Losing her would be more than he could bear, he'd come to realize with a faintly sick feeling. The only way to fight through the feeling was to remind himself that he would never, ever let anyone or anything hurt her. He'd die first.

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and let his head drop into his hands, sighing. It had been such a long day, but it felt as though there was no real rest in sight. Sensing his exhaustion, Yuna came and sat next to him, her hand on his back.

"Just think," she said quietly, "that all this will be over when we hand the file over to the authorities. Then you and I can –"

His head snapped up and he blinked at her in confusion. "Wait, what?"

"The file," Yuna repeated with a frown, gesturing to the folder on the table, stacked up with all the plates leftover from their room service. "I was just saying that –"

"You want us to give it to them?" he stammered, staring at her. He rose up from the mattress. "That's . . . no, we can't do that."

She stood up quickly, looking slightly pale. "I don't understand. Wasn't that the whole point of coming to Zurich? To find something we can use _against_ the people that are after us?"

"Originally, yes," he conceded, "but that was before it was apparent that these people can infiltrate certain levels of the government. If they can slip into the police force, what's stopping them from being part of the Supreme Court, or something? We have no idea who we can trust in the system, Yuna. If we just hand the file over to someone, it's just as likely to get destroyed. Then all of this will have been for nothing."

She tightened her jaw for a moment. "We can trust Wakka. He's my police friend, back in Marseille. He will see to it that the documents are –"

"Yuna, we don't _know_ that," he insisted.

"He would never betray us!" she cried, indignant. "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"I didn't mean him personally," he said quickly. "It's just that one man alone can't guarantee anything for us. Think about how many supervisors he works under. He could easily hand it over to someone working for _them_ without even realizing it."

"So what are you suggesting we do?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tidus ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled heavily, pacing around in a small circle. "Well, honestly . . . I think we should arrange a trade of some kind."

"With . . . with _them_? What sort of trade?"

He turned and looked at her pointedly. "Think about it for a minute. These people have no idea what we're planning to do with that file, and what's worse, they don't know where we are. That's bound to scare them. But what if we offer them the documents in exchange for having our names cleared, and to be left alone for good?"

She gaped at him for a moment, and he could see in her eyes that she was struggling with this. He licked his lips and closed the distance between them, taking her hands in his.

"Look," he continued softly, "I know this is important to you, just as much as it is to me. You've given up a lot on the hope that maybe we could figure this mess out. But you've gotta trust me on this, Yuna. The file is the only thing that can keep us alive, and God willing, safe."

When she still couldn't think of a response, he brought a hand up to stroke the side of her face. "If they agree, then I promise you I will find something else. I will dig up whatever dirt I can to bring them down. Can you do this with me?"

Yuna leaned into his touch, but her eyes seemed distant with thought. "So . . . how do we go about this?" she asked tentatively. "How do we even get in contact with them?"

"Well, I tried tracking their number on the satellite phone, but it doesn't look like its wired to allow that kind of thing. One way calls only. So it looks like we're going to have to find another way to flag them down."

Her brow furrowed as she gazed up at him. "How?"

"I don't know," he replied truthfully. "The only thing I can think of is finding a security camera somewhere on the streets of Zurich and waving my arms around. But I don't exactly like that idea."

She stifled a yawn and began stripping her clothes off to get ready for bed. "Well, let's not worry about that tonight. Sleep first, plan later."

He pulled his shirt up over his head and kicked off his shoes. "Now there's an idea I like."

000

"Good God, Mr. Seymour – do you _ever_ leave this office? Like, ever?"

Seymour scowled up at her from his curled up position on the couch and came to the conclusion that Miss Rikku Welsh was becoming less and less formal the more time she spent around him.

"Well, Miss Welsh, you see, grownups have this thing called 'responsibility'. And that usually means that you're not supposed to leave until the job is done," he replied groggily as he managed to pull himself upright. She raised an eyebrow and handed him the first of what was to become many cups of coffee.

"But you're allowed to sleep on the office couch from time to time?" she asked.

He sneered at her tone. "Forgive me, I am but a mortal man. Is there a reason why you woke me up?"

"Kelk is on the phone."

He cringed inwardly. _Shit_. "I'll take it in my office."

With a confidence in his stride that he did not feel, Seymour made his way through the winding corridors to his office and shut the door behind him. The phone sat ominously in wait. This was a conversation he did not want to have.

"Kelk," he said stiffly into the receiver, seating himself in the leather chair behind his desk. "What can I do for you?"

"You can start by cutting down on the bullshit, for once," the deep, gravelly voice replied scathingly. "When exactly were you planning on telling me that Raines has amnesia?"

Sighing, Seymour leaned back in the chair and rubbed at his temple. It was a problem he'd been mulling over for hours, and no conclusion made much sense to him. Still, he was prepared to lie, if necessary. Kelk was dangerous. "For God's sake, you really believe that to be true? It's a ploy to try and throw us off. There's never been a history of this sort of thing –"

"Well according to your people," the other man cut in, "there's also never been a deviation from the job, particularly from a man who came so highly recommended."

"Look," Seymour ground out, "even if he _is_ telling the truth, which I doubt, he's still a threat to us. He . . ." He paused and deliberated for a moment how to word this as delicately as possible. "He's gotten a hold of some . . . classified documents that could look bad for us. Not just us, everyone, the whole damn government. The CIA wouldn't fare so well either, if he decided to use the information."

"What kind of information are we talking about?" Kelk asked, with an obvious frown in his voice.

Seymour pulled out a bottle of Wiser's from his desk drawer. Supposedly, he quit drinking six years ago after his second divorce. Supposedly. He took a hefty swig before replying with a slightly mocking tone. "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to discuss it further, Kelk. The point is, I can't rest – and I sure as hell don't expect _you_ to rest – until Raines and that woman are brought in." He decided not to elaborate further on the term 'brought in'. Kelk probably had his own ideas on what it meant.

"So Miss Savard is a real threat? How? Christ, she's a med student."

"The fact that she's breathing the same air as him means she can't be trusted," Seymour said, taking another swig. "She's suspicious. That's enough for me."

"So you're going to arrest an innocent hospital intern with absolutely no criminal record and a soldier who doesn't even know what's going?" Kelk stopped to compose himself somewhat before continuing. "I understand that the situation needs to be contained a bit, but god damn it Seymour, you can't just –"

"Can't what, Kelk?" the man shot back, slamming his hand down on the desk. A woman walking by the office gave a start and blinked at him through the glass door, before hastily walking on. "Can't do my job? Can't save the jobs and reputations of every man and woman working in the system?"

"Don't pretend for a second that I'm stupid enough to think there isn't more going on here than you're telling me," Kelk shot back venomously. "The only reason I'm not launching a full investigation of SIN's activities is that I don't have enough evidence to back up my suspicions, other than the fact that I know you're a lying snake. Don't give me that bullshit about protecting the men and women working for you. You're trying to cover your ass, and I'll be damned if I let two innocent people suffer for it."

Seymour blanched and remained silent, pressing the receiver to his ear even after Kelk hung up on him. After a moment, he rose to his feet and took another mouthful of whiskey with him out the door.

"Lynwood," he said, entering the surveillance room. The other man lifted his head up at his name and came over to his boss at the doorway. Seymour crossed his arms and leaned closer to his colleague to avoid being overheard by the others. He saw Rikku Welsh watching them curiously from across the room.

"What is it?" Lynwood asked.

"I just got a call from Agent Kelk, with the CIA."

"I know him."

"Then would you happen to know how the hell he found out about Raines' supposed amnesia?" Seymour asked as calmly as he could.

Lynwood raised an eyebrow, unflappable as ever. "Kelk has an annoying habit of finding things out, Seymour. You really think there isn't an informant of some kind in the building? Maybe even on this very team?"

Seymour's gaze shifted to the people milling about the room, most of whom were occupied in front of a computer screen of some kind. Rikku went back to browsing through some papers on her desk when his eyes landed on her for a moment. "I hadn't thought of that, actually."

"I'm not saying it's a definite thing," Lynwood shrugged. "But you never know. Some secrets are too big for some people to keep."

His boss closed his eyes in a quietly irritated sort of way. "It would just be nice to have a team I can actually trust. But I guess that's asking too much."

Lynwood clapped a hand on his shoulder in a compatriotic sort of way. "Don't worry about it so much, Seymour. Even if Kelk did hear a thing or two, there's not much he can do to use it against us. Word of mouth isn't exactly indictment material."

Seymour was surprised to feel slightly comforted by that. He smirked crookedly at the other man, whom he could have considered a friend were they familiar with each other outside the office. "True enough, I suppose." Then he stopped and regarded Lynwood's face ponderingly. "Lynwood, I've been meaning to ask . . . how did you get that scar?"

His coworker removed his sunglasses – worn almost constantly – to show Seymour the full extent of it. It was a nasty-looking thing in that it permanently sealed the right eye shut, but at the same time it was kind of dashing. Lynwood was mysterious enough on his own; having such a defining scar only made his image all the more fascinating. Seymour had never bothered to look all that closely at it before now.

"Nasty bar fight when I was in college," he replied with only a hint of a smile. "Some frat boy with an attitude." It was hard to tell if he was kidding or not, but Seymour still found himself chuckling.

Slightly cheered, he urged Lynwood back to work and headed back to his office to make some phone calls.

"So, what did Seymour want?"

Lynwood glanced up at to see Rikku Welsh hop up onto his desk just as he was sitting down. She smiled openly at him and swung her legs, very much like a child. The perky young blonde usually avoided talking to him – a lot of people did, actually – but now she addressed him rather conversationally, as if they had been friends for ages.

"He and I were discussing who should be fired this month," he replied, completely straight-faced.

Rikku gaped at him for a moment before she let out a surprisingly loud laugh. "Wow, Mr. Lynwood, you scared the heck outta me for a second there," she tittered. "I didn't know there was a sense of humour buried inside that head of yours!"

"I'm only 'Lynwood' to Seymour," he smiled, genuinely. "Call me Auron."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Tidus woke early the next day, blinking in the light of the rising sun as it filtered through the curtains. He sighed and rolled onto his back, stretching his entire body as far as it could for a moment, before throwing the covers aside and rising to his feet. He then promptly dropped to the floor and began his routine of pushups and sit-ups, silently so as not to disturb Yuna. She slept on obliviously, her faint snores accompanying his deep, regulated breaths.

Five minutes later and sweating lightly, he hauled himself up and went for a quick shower. By the time he climbed out of the stall, the sound of the coffee grinder in the next room alerted him that Yuna was up and about.

"Good morning," she greeted him with a yawn as he emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed. "_Café_?"

He came forward and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. "_Merci_."

She poured him a cup. "So, are you going to tell me about this plan of yours?"

Drinking deeply, Tidus mulled his words over carefully. "We can't call them back on the satellite phone, right? It's only wired for one-ways. So we have to get their attention. They need to contact us again so we can arrange a trade of some kind."

"Yes," Yuna agreed with a sigh. "Though I wish I knew what makes you so sure they will agree to this. Even if we do manage to give back the file, what will stop them from killing us anyway?"

"You're absolutely right. That's probably exactly what they plan on doing," he said with a firm nod, not sounding the least bit surprised. "So we need to plan this carefully and give ourselves an out. If things go south, we need to be able to get away fast. They don't seem too shy about attacking us in public, but maybe we can find a way to make that work to our advantage."

She closed her eyes for a moment. "One thing at a time. How do we get their attention?"

He took another sip before replying, "Well, I'm pretty sure they have cameras everywhere, or at least access to them. The trick will be finding out a way to alert them where we are. Then we give them a signal that we want them to call us, and we talk."

"And in the mean time, they learn where to send more assassins to take care of us."

"They won't have enough time. Once they get in touch with us, we'll keep moving. We stay one step ahead, just like always."

Yuna smiled faintly at him before pushing her mug away and rising to her feet. "I'm going to get cleaned up. Can I trust you to come up with a brilliant scheme in the next twenty minutes?"

He smirked back. "I'll do what I can." Then, watching her disappear into the bathroom, the smile dropped from his face. He knew exactly what had to get done. And Yuna was definitely not going to like it.

000

Rikku didn't walk so much as she bounced; her distinctive blonde ponytail could be seen bobbing up and down between cubicles as she made her way towards the surveillance room, her designer heels clicking rhythmically. With an equally fashionable purse tucked under one arm and a Starbucks latte in the other hand, she cut as trendy a figure as one could get away with at the normally somber and business-like atmosphere of SIN's headquarters.

She arrived at the main entrance to the surveillance room just in time to run into Auron, who was on his way out to grab his own coffee.

"Good morning, Auron!" she chirped.

"Good morning, Miss Welsh," he replied with considerably less cheer than the young lady. He eyed the drink in her hand, wondering if she actually needed all that sugar and caffeine to maintain her sunny disposition at all hours of the day.

She flicked his arm admonishingly. "Hey now, if I get to call you by your first name, then _you_ should call me by _mine_. From now on, I only answer to Rikku."

"Fine. Rikku. Is that Japanese?"

"Yep! On my mom's side. She's half and half. I think I take after my dad's side more, though."

"Ah." He held the door open for her as he made his way out.

Unperturbed by her colleague's brevity, the young psychoanalyst in training breezed into the already buzzing room. Reliable as clockwork, Seymour could be seen prowling around like a caged tiger, grey eyes flicking over each computer monitor he passed.

"Good morning, Seymour," she greeted. He fixed her with an icy look that clearly said 'not in the mood; back off'. Holding up her hands peaceably, she continued on her way to her desk. Her job was moving along slowly, since the agent and his companion were limiting their use of her credit card, and it was difficult to track their transactions. They had only used a few times since this whole mess started, and aside from those train tickets to Zurich a few days ago, the card had only been used to withdraw a sizeable amount of money, which would no doubt last them a while. But now that they no doubt had the cash that was stored in the bank vault, she doubted they would resort to using her card again any time soon.

Others in the office were tasked with tracking their movements via satellite, as well as tapping into security cameras located throughout the city. Even then, however, Raines and Savard were keeping a low profile. They hadn't gone near any major public transit venues, and seemed to stick in larger crowds where they would be less conspicuous. It was a giant pain in the ass – namely Seymour's ass – and it meant long hours of unpaid overtime and an agonizingly slow process. It also meant dealing with their boss's unflinchingly bad temper at any and every given moment.

The one advantage to having such slow-moving progress was that Rikku found she had a long time to sit and think. Lately, she had been thinking a lot about this crisis, and the man responsible for it. Tidus Raines had intrigued her from the very first moment she had laid eyes on him. She had been young then, hired almost immediately after graduating from MIT with a degree in Brain and Cognitive sciences. Tidus had been young too, as she recalled – and cute. She had been there when he first showed up with an interest in their program, a decorated young soldier who was hungry to expand his military career by volunteering his services to SIN. Fiercely competitive and certain that he could be a valuable asset, he had made a striking case for himself.

Rikku remembered how impressed the supervisors had been when watching his training. He moved with surgical precision, hitting fast and hard, with a mind like a steel trap. No scenario was too risky or difficult for him; sooner or later, through sheer ingenuity and force of will, he would find a way to complete the mission. Even when it looked as though he had been truly and utterly cornered, where giving up seemed like the only reasonable option, he would shock all observing by managing to escape, recover, and come out on top. He outperformed all the other test subjects, and he was always ready to push himself further. Rikku had never seen such focus.

In all the times she had personally examined him, he had seemed perfectly willing to do what was asked of him. Then when his training ended, and he was given actual missions, she had begun to question his dedication – something she had never thought would happen. He started second-guessing himself, and his orders. He started asking questions, and when he wasn't satisfied with the answers, he became frustrated, and even insubordinate on a few occasions. Rikku had warned Kinoc that this type of behaviour could and most likely would compromise future jobs. The man's response, of course, was to double Raines' salary. The idea of disposing of such an accomplished soldier was apparently unbearable to him. And as far as Rikku knew, that had been enough to at least temporarily do away with Tidus' concerns.

Yet this failed mission and subsequent catastrophe o SIN's hands led Rikku to figure that a bigger paycheck wasn't going to cut it with him this time.

"Daydreaming already?" Auron's gruff voice rocked her out of her reverie. Blinking, Rikku sat up a little straighter and realized for the first time that he computer was signaling her that another transaction had just been made.

"Hey!" she called, waving at Seymour at the back of the room. "Savard's just swiped her card again."

In a shocking display of speed and agility for a man of his age, Seymour appeared at her side, leaning in to examine the data being transferred. A crease appeared between his brows.

"Opera tickets?" he queried.

Rikku shrugged, looking baffled. "Apparently they plan to see _Tosca_ this Friday night at the Zurich Opernhaus. Lucky them."

"This is deliberate," Auron cut in grimly. "Raines is trying to get our attention. He wouldn't risk using her card otherwise."

"Let's get a satellite imaging in there," Seymour barked, motioning to a few of the techies hovering near a monitor. "Get as close as you can."

Someone – Rikku was pretty sure his name was Ken, or Kyle, or something – jumped right to it, punching in the opera house's coordinates. The satellite shifted and honed in on the city, gradually zooming in closer and closer to that exact location. As the image came into focus on the giant display screen, the team could see milling crowds on the sidewalk outside the theatre, as well as in the parking lot. There was undoubtedly a performance happening that night.

"Closer," Seymour ordered, his eyes darting rapidly over the screen. "Hold it there – right outside the main entrance. Open the search program."

The room fell oddly quiet as the program started to run, scanning and processing each face that passed across the camera's field of vision. Then the software picked up on the specific features it had been designed to locate, and brought up a positive hit. The satellite enhanced the image, showing a familiar blond individual standing just outside the main gates of the opera house. He was holding something in his hand, clearly on display for any hypothetical cameras to pick up on.

"What is that?" Rikku asked, frowning at the screen.

Seymour straightened his posture and exchanged a look with Auron. "It's the satellite phone."

His colleague nodded. "Looks like we've got a phone call to make."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

It was all Tidus could do to keep from pacing to and fro like a caged animal, waiting for that inevitable phone call. The opera tickets were burning holes in his jeans pocket, but there was no going back now. He made sure that the satellite phone was visible in his hand, though he was also doing his best not to look too conspicuous to the crowds milling by. Somewhere out there, a camera was focusing in on him, and they were planning their next move.

He did not like this situation in the least. He knew Yuna liked it even less. There was an element of lost control that they were going to have to deal with for the time being. They were deliberately putting themselves under a microscope for their enemies to pick them apart, holding on to the desperate hope that they would be able to remain at least one step ahead. Still, as he'd told himself over and over again since last night, this was the only way.

Sure enough, no later than four minutes after he'd swiped Yuna's card, the phone began to ring. Taking one deep breath to steady himself, Tidus lifted the receiver to his lips.

"First things first," he began, not waiting to hear any voice on the other end. "I think it's pretty obvious that I am taking a pretty big risk in reaching out to you like this. Yes?"

"Okay, fair enough. But that –"

"Secondly," Tidus went on, recognizing it as the same voice he'd spoken to before. "This is a peace offering. That means no more hired men coming after me, or Yuna Savard. I want our names cleared. We go free. In exchange, I'll give you the documents I took from the vault, and nobody else has to know about them."

The man on the other end sounded incredulous. After a long pause, he spluttered, "Are you fucking serious?"

Tidus began walking. Nowhere in particular, just moving. It felt too dangerous to stand in one spot for long, no matter how public. "I'm dead serious. No tricks, no games. You can have the file back, no questions asked. Just leave Yuna and me in peace. That's all we want."

"Come on Raines, you can't honestly expect me to just take your word for it."

"Who is this?"

"Jack Seymour, head of the Security and Intelligence Network. You know what that means? It means I've got a lot of people working under me. Dozens of careers are hanging in the balance now, because of you dragging us into this shitstorm."

Somewhere in the vague corners of memory, Tidus recalled the acronym SIN. "Careers? You're defending murder, Seymour. I've looked through the records. I know exactly what kind of people you are."

The other man snorted contemptuously. "You don't even have the slightest clue, soldier. You don't know a damn thing about the work we do. The work we _pay_ you to do."

"Like I said," Tidus snapped, "I am finished with this. I don't want any part of your 'Security and Intelligence Network' ever again. Now either you agree to my terms, or I go to a _different_ Network and see what they have to say about all this."

There was a frustrated pause on the line, and Tidus decided that he was finished talking it over. "You know the when and where. Be there alone and unarmed. If I even _think_ that you might pull something, I'll blow this whole 'shitstorm' wide open. That is a promise."

With that, he hung up and then dropped the phone in a nearby waste bin, never once missing a step.

000

"God _fucking _damn it!" Seymour snarled as the line cut out. The others around him exchanged nervous looks. Their boss turned away from the screen and laced his fingers behind his head, closing his eyes.

Auron rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I guess we should put a team together. I'll go make some calls."

On his way out, he caught Rikku's eye and offered her a brief, reassuring smile. She chewed her lip and watched him leave before returning her attention back to her agitated superior.

"Any ideas?" she ventured, coming to stand next to him. He dropped his arms and fixed her with a hard stare.

"Plenty. Each one less appealing than the last."

"Are we actually gonna consider going through with this deal?" she asked, somewhat incredulous. He snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Of course not. We can't take that risk. There's no guarantee that he hasn't made copies of the file, for insurance." He paused and took a long, deep breath. "On the other hand, I'm beginning to see that killing him isn't exactly a walk in the park. It'll be damn near impossible to pin him down, especially at the goddamn opera."

"He knows we'll be waiting for him," another technician piped up. "He'll be ready for an ambush."

"Where is Yuna gonna be in all this?" Rikku wondered aloud, drawing eyes to her. "Would he actually put her in the middle of a drop?"

"We don't know the nature of their relationship. Either he'll try to keep her as far away as possible, or . . . hell," someone snorted, "he might even use her as a human shield."

Seymour shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Didn't you hear what he said? 'We go free'. It sounds like he's fighting for her too."

"Which means he'll want to keep her out of harm's way," Rikku continued along his train of thought, "but close enough that he can be sure not to lose her."

Seymour snapped his fingers, gesturing to his assistant Joshua. "You," he barked. "Time to get you out of the office. You ready for your own assignment?"

Joshua's face seemed to light up, and he stood taller. "Yes sir. What's the plan?"

"Assemble a team and do a sweep of every hotel, motel, hostel, and B & B in the city," his boss ordered swiftly. "Look for any signs of a young couple checking in recently. I want this Yuna woman bound, gagged, and in our custody ASAP."

The young man blanched slightly as the enormity of the assignment hit him. "Th-that might take a while, sir, but –"

"But you're gonna do your best not to make me wait too damn long," Seymour cut in harshly. He then turned to Rikku.

"Find Auron and tell him I want a word."

000

He had only been gone for forty-five minutes, and Yuna already felt like she was about to lose her mind with worry. The two of them had never been separated this long, and even though she knew he could take care of himself, it was still nearly impossible for her to sit still. She had gone to look out the window so many times that she could almost see a path forming from the bed to the curtains where her feet had trod. He had told her he would be back within the hour, but as the minutes ticked by, she was getting more and more anxious.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Yuna flopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan. Truthfully, she wasn't just worried for his safety. She couldn't help but wonder how long it would take before her own location was found. Zurich was a decent sized place, but it wasn't enormous, and there was certainly not an infinite number of hotels in which to hide. If her instincts were right, these people – whoever they were – clearly had the resources to track her down if they were looking hard enough. She found herself jumping at the smallest noises outside, imagining footsteps and the metallic click of guns just beyond her door.

She shut her eyes and groaned, stifling her face with a pillow. Why hadn't she gone with him? Why did he insist on having her stay behind?

"_If I'm not back in an hour, take the file and go to your friend Wakka. I don't know what will happen, but if this doesn't work, then he might be our only chance to make this right."_

Yuna's insides ached a little, savouring the unspoken words lying just out of reach. For a man schooled to be a cold-hearted killing machine, Tidus had remarkable emotion in his eyes. Something deep and hungry always seemed to lie just under the surface, yet they were lined with such kindness and warmth too. She had always been rather reserved and shy, but he had a way of knocking down every last inhibition she possessed with as little as one look. No wonder she had turned into such a bundle of hormones since meeting him. Nobody had ever looked at her the way he did.

Of course, there was more to their strange little relationship than just that. She hadn't even begun to wrap her head around the crippling fear that seemed to take hold of her when she thought of him dying, or even just getting hurt. The fear of being _without_ him, of missing his rare little smiles, missing those unbearably sweet moments they managed to share for but a few seconds every day. If being with him meant giving up her old life forever – Marseilles, the hospital, her friends, her father – she was stunned to realize that she would do it.

She rolled onto her side, determined not to drive herself crazy. _He'll be back soon, you silly creature. Stop worrying_. She had to be more like Tidus, taking it all one step at a time. Deal with the future when it comes, if ever.

Her eyes landed on the file stacked messily on the little table nearby. It was hard to imagine that such a harmless-looking object was at the centre of such a precarious spiral of events and circumstances. The temptation to simply destroy it was sometimes so overwhelming that Yuna had to clench her fists just to keep them still. Would it make any difference at all? Would it make things worse? Could she take such an impulsive step and possibly ruin everything?

Yuna rose from the bed and went over to the table, sifting idly through the papers. Nothing but names, numbers, and dates. Sighing again, she debated putting on another pot of coffee when her eyes scanned briefly across a certain name.

Her chest seemed to constrict around her heart at that moment, trapping the blood in her veins. Her eyes widened.

_Renata LaRoche_.

For a long time she could only stare in shock, hardly able to process the letters forming that name. It was dated at ten years ago – obviously too long ago for Tidus to have had anything to do with it, but . . .

"Oh my God," she choked, her hand flying up to her mouth. She could still remember seeing that lone pillar of smoke rising in the distance, exactly where the cabin should have been. The smell of it filtering through the trees still gave her nightmares, as did the sight of that one blackened hipbone she had accidentally stepped on when looking through the wreck –

Yuna ran to the bathroom, her stomach churning, but nothing came out as she stood heaving over the toilet.

_Auron's face looked positively ashen._

"_It was a gas leak."_

"_YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HER!"_

She didn't even know Tidus was back until she felt his hands on her. Stricken, she turned and found herself gaping up at him, her face drenched with uncontrollable tears.

"Yuna?" he whispered, lost. She opened and closed her mouth, but the words came out strangled and weak. She managed to say her mother's name, and that was all it took. He pulled her into his arms and held her flush up against his chest, rocking her as she lost any and all composure she had left.

"You tell me we're going to get them," she sobbed brokenly, bunching the fabric of his shirt so tightly that she nearly ripped through it. "Tell me we'll get them Tidus, promise me we'll get them –"

He dragged her up to meet his eyes, and lips. "Babe," he murmured against her, trembling for her, "they are as good as fucking as _dead_."

She closed her eyes. He meant every word, spoken and silent.

000

"You're getting in too deep, Auron."

Kelk sounded tired. The man probably hadn't slept in a week, since getting this assignment. He had been waiting for years for a chance to get a closer look at SIN's activities, desperate to find something – _anything_ – that could bring them down. Auron had his suspicions as to why, but Kelk was something of a closed box, locked tightly. It was probably the reason why they understood each other so well.

He found himself chuckling humourlessly. "I've been neck deep in this thing since day one. Can I expect some kind of back up in Zurich?"

"Not without that file," the other man sighed. "Without something solid to go against him, Seymour is untouchable. There are too many people paying him to keep their dirty little secrets under wraps."

"I don't like this. The CIA shouldn't be afraid of a little billion-dollar side project."

"Go to the drop. Do everything Seymour tells you to do. It'd be a shame if that boy has to die, but I think you and I know what's really at stake."

Auron clenched his jaw for a moment. "And Yuna?"

"We're doing everything we can, but you know I can't make any promises."

"If you can find her before SIN does –"

"I told you," his friend insisted, "we're doing our best. If she stays out of the way, there's a chance she can walk away from all this. But from what I've heard, I don't think she'll be willing to cooperate."

A smile came out unbidden. Damn that girl. "True enough. I'll call you when we land."

"Take care."

Auron hung up the phone and paused for a long moment, preparing himself for another seemingly endless trek back to the surveillance room. He then turned around and came face to face with a very astonished-looking young woman.

He froze. Rikku stared at him with those wide green eyes of hers, utterly motionless for such a usually frenetic ball of energy.

"How much did you hear?" Auron found himself asking. His voice sounded hollow and metallic in the little storage closet.

"Everything," she whispered.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

It didn't occur to Rikku until just that moment that she should be afraid of him. After all, he was just Auron Lynwood, the stoic office guy who seemed overly fond of sunglasses. He'd always had the mysterious, vaguely dangerous aura about him, but Rikku had found it sexy, not scary. Seymour's right hand man. Only now he was Auron Lynwood, CIA mole, traitor, and suddenly he seemed much bigger and stronger than before. What lengths would he go to in order to keep her quiet?

He saw the shift in her expression, and quickly held up a hand. "Wait," he said quietly, urgently, but with some measure of assertiveness. "Just wait a second."

She took a step back, but something in his face made her hesitate. "How long have you been spying on us?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking (and failing).

Sighing, he took off his sunglasses and looked down to polish them. "Ten years. Give or take."

For some reason, Rikku felt her eyes stinging. She barely knew him, and she herself had only been working for SIN for a couple of years, but even so, his betrayal hurt. It seemed to have knocked the wind out of her.

"Why?"

His one good eye came up to meet hers again. "My best friend's wife was a casualty. SIN had targeted him, and she died instead. Until that moment, I hadn't allowed myself to ponder how many innocent people we might have accidentally killed in the past. Or maybe not accidentally. I convinced myself that what we do is necessary. Taking out evil, greedy people and doing the world a favour. Then I woke up and realized that SIN is just as bad – if not worse – than anything else out there. I realized . . ."

He paused here, and Rikku found herself holding her breath.

"I realized that I had been the enemy all along. And I didn't want to live my life that way."

"Accidents happen," Rikku heard herself say. "But Auron . . . the people we go after . . . _they_ are the enemy. Guerrilla warlords, drug cartels, crooked business moguls . . . surely you can see that we do _some_ good?"

"We don't have the right to decide that, Rikku," he sighed, turning away from her. "A lot of the time, we just make things worse. Guerilla warlords? For every guy we take out, six others vie to take his place. Same with the drug rings and crooked businessmen. It doesn't matter how many people go down. More will come, and more innocent lives will pay the price."

"If what we do is so evil, then why do we keep getting contracts? If we weren't making some kind of difference in the world, why is the demand so high?" she demanded, a note of desperation filtering into her voice.

"It's an endless cycle, Rikku. We're nothing but the rope in an endless tug-of-war."

She blinked, and then frowned. "What do you mean?"

He gave her a humourless smirk. "Who do you think hires us most of the time? We get paid by corrupt men to take out other corrupt men, in order to free up this scrap of land or another, or an oil reserve, or to gain the advantage in an arms race. If you haven't figured out by now just how our government operates, then I weep for your future."

Rikku shook her head and bit her lip, letting the tears spill over. "Look," she pleaded, "I'm barely out of internship, for God's sake. I-I can't . . . I'm not part of any –"

"Yes you are," he insisted, with a sudden fierceness that took her by surprise. "That's just it, Rikku. The fact that you _know_ what it is we do and still turn a blind eye means that you are just as responsible as the men who first organized SIN. We all have blood on our hands. Only now, I'm choosing to do some good with the things that I've seen and learned."

He stopped and looked away from her again, seeming to choose his next words very carefully. "You have a very narrow window of opportunity here, kid. I'm offering you a golden opportunity here. On a silver platter."

"A golden opportunity on a silver platter, huh? Nice metaphor." She tried to smile, and found that she couldn't. "What are you talking about?"

"You have a chance to make things right," he pressed. "Imagine being able to help right some of the wrongs you've been a part of. Work with me, and the CIA, and we can bring down SIN from the inside out."

A coldness seemed to settle in Rikku's stomach, while something warm grabbed hold of her heart. It was a discomfiting feeling, not knowing whether to feel scared or hopeful. Free, or even more trapped than before. Which was the lesser of two evils?

"Or else what?" She didn't want to have to ask.

Auron breathed a deep, barely audible sigh. "Or else I will be put in a very, very awkward position. One that I don't want to be in."

Their gazes held for an almost uncomfortably long period of time. Finally, unclenching her jaw, Rikku nodded. "Alright. I'm in."

An unexpected smirk fell on Auron's lips. "Tired of sleepless nights?"

"You're damn right I am."

000

She was finally asleep, after the entire night passed them by and they were well into the next day. Tidus, propped up on his elbow at her side, gazed down at her with tired, worn-out eyes. He didn't think it was possible for one person to cry so hard for so long. All he could do was watch her helplessly, unable to offer any solace other than the comfort of his arms and the broad expanse of his chest. It was as though she had lost her mother all over again, reduced once more to a grief-stricken twelve-year-old with the ground crumbling beneath her. What could he say to her? What could he possibly do to make such hurt go away?

So he stayed with her, silent and maddened by his own incapacities, until Yuna drained herself into some semblance of peace. Her skin was so white that she nearly matched the barren sheets around them. And it was then that he knew – he _knew_ – that there was no way he could do this with her in tow. She was too invested in that damned file. It made her weak. It made her lose focus. Could he blame her?

But this would be risky enough even if she was in a more stable frame of mind. He would need all his concentration, which wouldn't be possible if part of him was worrying about her, wondering if she was safe.

Sighing, Tidus turned away from her and rolled off the bed, ignoring every creak and moan his muscles gave. He had a cramp in his shoulder from cradling her. Decided not to give it too much thought.

Two days. Two days, and he'd be face to face with all the might of SIN in a confined opera house. He had just enough time to learn the buildings schematics, its ins and outs, and become familiar with every possible contingency plan. Of course, Seymour and his team were probably thinking the exact same thing. Hell, they might even be two steps of him already.

But there was something about the opera house that Seymour likely didn't know. Something that he couldn't possibly know without seeing the place for himself with his own two eyes, rather than via satellite. And it was this one, miniscule shred of information that allowed Tidus to think that maybe, somehow, he could pull this off. Maybe.

He did not like false hope. It didn't sit well with him. His mind was always running in parallels, calculating odds, framing possible scenarios he might come up against. Hope was dangerous, and it made one sloppy. With his and Yuna's lives at stake as they were, there was no room for it.

But he couldn't help it. Looking at her, feeling the way he did whenever she was near, it was all he could do.

He dressed quietly and then slipped out the door, leaving her to her own private oblivion.

000

Yuna peeled her eyes open and lay blinking in the late afternoon light. Her body felt weak and empty, almost weightless, and she contemplated going back to sleep. She couldn't ever remember feeling so exhausted in all her life. In the wake of so much sadness, so much grief, her body seemed incapable of summoning another emotion. She was numb.

Her gaze lingered on the empty space next to her. She could still smell his body on the sheets, and the wrinkles in the fabric were molded to fit his contours. She wasn't surprised to see him gone.

She eventually crawled out of bed and forced herself to take a shower, knowing that the hot water and steam would help clear her head and soothe her. By the time she finished towel-drying her hair, Tidus had returned.

He was sitting at the small round table when she emerged from the bathroom, her skin still pink and smelling of soap. There were numerous papers and diagrams spread over the table's surface, and what appeared to be blueprints. Yuna came over to stand at his side. Looking up at her, he wrapped an arm around her hips and squeezed her for a moment. He didn't ask if she was okay.

"What is all this?" she asked. Her voice sounded hoarse and decayed.

"An original outline of the Opernhaus."

"Why not get the updated version?"

He offered a knowing smile and pulled out a second document. "I did. Fresh from the city planner's personal files."

"You hacked into a city official's personal computer?" she queried, eyebrows raised. "I didn't know you could do that."

"You're surprised?" he asked, somewhat ironically. "It didn't take much. But fortunately for us, Seymour and his crew aren't aware of its existence. They don't know that the Opernhaus is being redesigned on the inside. They've completely demolished the lower levels and are rebuilding them in a totally new fashion. I've got the completed model in my hands, but it's kept under lock and key. Only the city planner and contractor would have any hard copies, and since Seymour and his cameras can't see inside, I'm assuming –"

" – _hoping_ –"

He paused, and then winced a little. "True. I'm _hoping_ that they don't know about the remodeling."

"And if they do?"

A sigh escaped him, but he tried not to look too worried. "Then we'll just have to hope that they trained me well enough to evade them."

Surprisingly, she managed a faint smile. "Or assume."

He smiled back, and took her hand in his.


	19. Chapter 19

Yeah, I know, I suck. Sorry (again) for being obscenely overdue! I was temporarily overcome with muses for other fandoms, and needed to take a break from this story so that I could step back and gather some perspective on it. Plus, there's that whole 'university' thing I had to take care of.

I actually had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Again, there isn't really any action, but it's an important one! And I hadn't originally intended to get Joshua more involved in the storyline. Normally I'm not a fan of authors extensively using an OC in fanfiction, but I can see now how easy it is to get creative! I'm starting to like playing around with his character a little more.

Anyway, thanks again for everyone's patience. As a reward, I tried to make this chapter a bit longer than usual. Enjoy!

000

**Chapter 19**

"There's one thing we haven't talked about yet."

Tidus looked up from the blueprints to meet Yuna's somber eyes. "What's that?"

"Where am I going to be in all this?" she asked, gesturing to the papers spread out on the table in front of him.

The muscles in his jaw tightened. He had been dreading this conversation, and put it off longer than he should have. Leaning back in his chair, he ran an anxious hand through his hair and held her gaze with his. She saw the look on his face, and promptly stood up from the mattress.

"You are not keeping me here," she warned him. She was trying to sound strict, but he could plainly hear a note of panic creeping into her tone. "Do you hear me?"

"Yuna," he sighed, "I can't do this right if I'm constantly worried about keeping you safe. I need my wits about me at all times, and you . . . well, you just –"

"I slow you down," she concluded bitterly, turning away.

"That's not true." _Liar. She can admit it, but you can't?_

She shook her head a little. "I do. I know I do. But you cannot expect me to sit idly by while you are out there risking your life for the both of us."

"And _you_ can't expect me to let you walk right in the line of fire," he countered. He stood up and began pacing, determined not to let his resolve slip. "This isn't a simple matter of going in, handing over the file, and walking out again. I could die. _We _could die. Do you understand that?"

"Then what am I supposed to do?" she demanded.

Tidus' heart contracted painfully in his chest. "I . . . reserved a seat for you on a flight to the French Antilles. The island of Martinique. Tonight."

She froze. He licked his lips, and stumbled onward. "It's not final," he rushed to explain. "Nothing's paid for yet. I was on the computer at the city planner's office, and I just figured while I was there I should . . ."

He trailed off at the stricken look on her face. "Please," she whispered, eyes filling with tears. "Please don't send me away."

"I have to, Yuna."

"I can't just leave you!"

"I don't quite know how I managed to keep us both alive this past week. It's been one fluke after another, sheer dumb luck."

"_You_ kept me alive," she insisted, gripping his fingers. "It wasn't luck –"

"A few agents are one thing, but this is different. I'm diving head first into a trap, with nothing to protect me but a stack of papers and whatever training they've given me. That's it."

Yuna glared back resolutely, lips trembling with the effort of keeping silent. His eyes roamed the planes of her face with an aching need, and his hand freed itself from hers to brush her cheek. "Don't you get it? It's my fault you're in this mess. I tried to kill your father – and probably you too, for the record – and then I dragged you from the hospital and made you my accomplice. If I'm going to have any chance of getting out of this alive, I need to know that I didn't just throw you to the lions, after all we've been through. I _need_ to know that I did everything I could to protect you."

She finally closed her eyes, spilling her tears and leaning into his touch. "Promise me," she choked, "that when it's all over, you'll come and find me."

Relief flooded through him. He pulled her close, murmuring, "No matter what it takes."

000

Rikku stared out the window of the private jet, unusually quiet and calm. Her green eyes glazed over, blind to the clouds sweeping by or the blue of the ocean below. The aircraft was packed to the absolute maximum capacity, with nearly every seat taken up by either a person or some piece of surveillance equipment. Conversation buzzed in all directions, but the young psychoanalyst was completely oblivious to it.

Until, that is, someone swept aside the pile of wires in the chair next to her and replaced it, opening with a cordial, "You look even more preoccupied than Seymour."

Rikku blinked, startled, and turned to see Joshua – the young assistant, now in charge of his own task unit – smiling back at her. He looked like a kid who was about to go on his first hunting trip (and in fact, he kind of was), eyes wider and even brighter than normal.

"I'm sorry?"

"You've been really quiet and . . . pensive-looking all morning," he pointed out. At this proximity, they could speak quietly and still hear each other through the din of activity all around them. People making phone calls, negotiating with local police and intelligence factions, pouring over city maps, and of course, examining every possible square inch of the Opernhaus' blueprints.

Rikku smiled thinly. She was not in the mood for a conversation, though she had always thought Joshua seemed like a nice enough young man. Her decision to start working for the CIA had kept her wide awake for the last twenty-four hours, and she had the uncomfortable feeling like she was wading through quicksand. One wrong move and she'd plunge to her death, but all she could do was trudge forward and hope the lifeline waiting for her at the end would not suddenly pull out of reach. Auron had not been very that clear one what exactly he wanted her to do. All he had said was that she needed to do everything in her power to keep Tidus and Yuna out of SIN's reach. When she had asked why he was fighting so hard to protect these two, he had merely given her an enigmatic smile and told her to stick to one thing at a time.

"Oh, you know," she said with a shrug. "Just thinking."

"What about?"

"Raines. Yuna. The mission."_ Auron. Seymour. SIN. The CIA. Betraying the very people who took me under their wing, trained me, paid me, protected me. The same people who orchestrate high profile murders in exchange for money and political immunity. You know, nothing out of the ordinary at all._

Joshua looked down at his hands folded neatly in his lap. "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually," he confessed. "Has Seymour given you an assignment yet?"

"Not really. I'm supposed to stand by in case the Swiss police decide to get in the way. They've agreed to let us cast a net, but for some reason they don't seem to like the idea of letting a bunch of Americans run amok in their capital city."

"Run amok?" he repeated, giving her a look of mock indignation. "I resent that. I'll have you know, we plan to be very organized in our running."

"I believe you," she fawned graciously. "But it looks like all I have to do is be ready to kiss some serious diplomatic ass, and hope that I can convince the cops to stay out of our way. Apparently Seymour thinks I'm the type of person that gets taken seriously. He can barely stand me half the time, but here I am."

She gestured to her ponytail to illustrate her point. Unapologetically youthful and girlish, Rikku had nevertheless learned that not compromising her personality often meant getting overlooked, relegated to a pseudo-permanent 'temp' status that she doubted she would ever fully shake off. She was more than qualified for her job, whatever that job happened to be at the time, but even with Seymour's inexplicable confidence in her abilities, other organizations needed a little bit more convincing.

Joshua cleared his throat a little, and tried to keep his smile cavalier. "I'd like to see someone try to undermine you," he joked, though he suddenly dropped his eyes from hers. "As if they could. Seymour trusts you for a reason, after all."

Anxious guilt flared up in Rikku's gut, and she rushed to change the topic's direction. "So, why did you want to know if I had an assignment yet?"

"Ah, well, I was just wondering if you'd consider lending a hand with my team," he offered, fiddling with his thumbs in the most spectacularly bashful way. "I think you could bring a certain level of energy that, I, um, admittedly lack."

She stared at him, determined not to look as alarmed as she felt. There he was, thinking he was giving her a compliment. "Really? You want me to help you bring in Yuna?"

"Yeah," he coughed, daring to smile back up at her. "If you want to, that is. I'd understand if you'd feel more secure staying closer to base operations, but I could really use your expertise."

"I'm just a psychoanalyst," she protested.

"Which means you know a lot about human behaviour," he insisted. "You know how they think, how they move. I know you've read Savard's file close to a dozen times, not to mention your experience with Raines himself. Plus, you minored in telecommunications, right? So you've got the gadgets down pat too."

"He's right."

Both Rikku and Joshua looked up with a start to find Auron leaning over the back of their seats, his unscarred eye fixed on the young woman. "I'm moving you to the special ops mission. Find Yuna, and do what needs to be done."

She swallowed invisibly, and Joshua beamed. "Thanks, Lynwood," he said delightedly, before turning back to Rikku. "See? You're outnumbered."

Her answering grin fooled him, but likely not Auron, who kept watching her with that same unreadable expression. "I guess I am."

Their superior stood up and moved into the aisle, heading towards the front of the jet, where Seymour was busy briefing a few other members of staff. "Good. I'll tell the boss. You two should try and get some rest. We'll be landing in another few hours."

_Yeah, like that'll happen,_ she grumbled inwardly, watching him converse with Seymour. Sleep was the absolute last thing on her mind. How the hell was she supposed to get to Yuna first, let alone keep the rest of the team off her trail?

Joshua, on the other hand, looked like he was trying to make himself more comfortable. He reclined his seat a little and shifted position, leaning his head back and closing his eyes before he realized that she was not following suit.

"You're not sleepy at all?" he inquired with a frown.

She shook her head and busied herself by pulling out her laptop. "I'll be fine. Just gonna gather some extra intel. You go ahead and get some shuteye, okay?"

"Fine, fine. Just don't burn yourself out. I need you in mint condition when we arrive."

She nodded wordlessly, and he took it as his cue to leave her in peace. With a self-conscious smile, he lay back down and settled in for a nap. There was something universally intimate about sleeping next to someone, even on an airplane, even if that someone was still more or less a stranger. They'd been colleagues for a few years now, but had never spoken to each other at any great length, and for a few minutes Rikku was frustratingly distracted by his unguarded presence at her side. The temptation to keep checking on him, taking note of his expressions, the occasional twitch of his hand on the arm rest, was making it very difficult for her to focus on just how completely screwed she was.

Finally, at some point his gentle snores faded into the background and she was able to at least get a rudimentary search underway. She was in the middle of scanning various hotel reservations in the eastern half of Zurich, when a window popped up on her screen. It looked like an old newspaper article, detailing the death of Braska LaRoche's wife, Renata. Rikku frowned in puzzlement. She had configured her laptop to block unauthorized file exchanges, as did most of the staff. It was a security measure designed to help keep her IP address relatively safe, allowing her to move between systems without attracting any attention. Yet there she was, receiving a mysterious package that was somehow pertinent to the case. She glanced up at the corner of the window to see who had sent it. _A/L._

She craned her neck to locate Auron, and found him sitting near the front, computer open on his lap as well. Seymour was pacing no more than three feet away, berating someone on the phone in what sounded like German. Auron caught her stare, but pretended not to notice her. Rikku raised an eyebrow in reply. The man had some nerve to hack her in plain sight of the boss, she granted him that. She was none too pleased about the liberty, but figured it had to be important enough for him to take such a risk.

Scrolling down, her eyes scanned briefly over the details of Renata LaRoche's death. Something about a cabin, a gas leak, 'terrible tragedy', 'left Braska and his daughter completely broken-hearted', and the like.

Then she saw Renata's picture – a classic portrait, showcasing an understated beauty that was inescapably familiar.

Rikku's eyes widened. _That's Yuna's mother._ The thought came unbidden, springing from her gut with a certainty that was almost unsettling. The two women looked almost identical, though Yuna obviously took after her father in some respects.

_Her father._

_Braska LaRoche is Yuna Savard's father_.

Her eyes shot back up to find Auron staring back at her this time. She gaped at him, trembling, before she looked down to examine the portrait once more. How could they have missed this? How could they not have known Yuna was the daughter of the French Minister of Defense? Aside from changing her last name, there was only so much that could be done to keep such a secret from an entity like SIN, whose sole purpose was to know the seemingly unknowable. It was no real secret that Braska had a child, but he had always been notoriously adept at keeping the spotlight aimed on him alone. The girl had been sent abroad for schooling, and had a whole team assembled specifically to guard her from public scrutiny 24/7. Throughout his entire political career, not once had he ever made a public appearance with his daughter, and only very rarely with Renata. They must have agreed early in the marriage that whatever children they had were to be kept completely anonymous. Had he known then that he would incur such a list of enemies? That if anyone was to seek revenge for his zero tolerance policy, they could pull his wife and child into the crossfire?

Rikku snapped her laptop shut, hardly able to breathe. The daughter of a man they had attempted to kill was now on the run from them with the very same agent they had tasked with the deed. If that wasn't an astonishing, ironic turn of events, she didn't know what else qualified.

How did Auron know of this? Was it from his connections in the CIA? No, if that were the case, the information on Yuna would have been much more thorough, likely even dating back even before the explosion. This was something else.

_My best friend's wife was a casualty_, he had said to her. _SIN targeted him, and she died instead._

Rikku closed her eyes and sagged back into the seat, suddenly feeling very, very tired.


	20. Chapter 20

ARGH okay. All I can say is that once again I am truly, profoundly sorry for keeping you guys waiting (whoever has bothered to actually stick around and wait for new chapters) and thank you for your endless patience. Take comfort in the fact that I've taken some time to actually plan out the final stages of this story, so I now have a much clearer idea of where I want things to go and how to get there.

Welcome to chapter 20! Not much action just yet, but there's a bit of Tidus/Yuna fluff and some unexpectedly cute banter between Rikku and Seymour. I promise that things will start to get interesting next chapter, which I plan to start working on as soon as March releases its chokehold on me (six papers, three exams, and two projects – somebody shoot me, please).

For now, enjoy!

000

**Chapter 20**

She watched him dress silently, still nestled on the bed with the sheets tangled around her. Her face was wet with tears, but she was no longer crying.

"Run it through for me again." His voice was quiet, but the air of command was unmistakable.

Yuna sat up on the mattress and wiped at her face. They had spent nearly all day in bed together, talking and planning – and other things – almost non-stop. Their lovemaking had taken on a frantic urgency that left them both shattered and trembling in the aftermath, only to resume it once more as the knowledge of their impending goodbyes returned to memory.

She was drained, physically and emotionally, and she wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

"The flight leaves at nine pm. I must not to set foot outside this room until eight o'clock sharp, when the taxi arrives. I pay for the airplane ticket in cash. I'm not to talk to anyone in the airport or on the flight, and when I land in Fort-de-France, I am to check in immediately at La Ferrasie Hotel. Room 314."

Tidus nodded curtly. "Good. And then –"

"I wait for you to contact me to say that it's all over, and we can lie naked on the beach drinking margaritas for as long as we like," she supplied helpfully.

Despite himself, he smiled back briefly. Then, serious again because there is just no light way to ask this, "What do you do if they catch you?"

She sobered up as well, acutely aware of the ripple of fear flaring in her gut. He had assured her that she meant more to them alive than dead, since they would need her to get to him, but even so, she had to force her hands into fists to keep them steady. "I let them take me," she whispered, "and tell them that we made a copy of the file. I let them know that if anything happens to me, you will make the documents public. We have the copy stored on a computer, which will automatically e-mail it to every news station in the United States unless we punch in a manual code preventing it from doing so at a specific time. Also, any attempts to hack or decipher the code from an outside source will result in an immediate send off."

"And?" he prompted.

"And I tell them who I really am." _If they don't know already by now._ Braska had always been secretive about her, even before her mother's death, and had gone to almost absurd lengths to hide her very existence from public knowledge. Her birth certificate, social insurance number, driver's license – even her old report cards from boarding school – all sealed government information, securely locked away. Even Renata had been practically a ghost, rarely making public appearances and only emerging alongside her husband for particularly prestigious events.

Yuna had once asked him why, why all this secrecy; only to be met with the profoundly unsatisfying answer of "for your safety". Safety, she learned at an early age, came at a serious cost. No friends, no social life, no privacy, no real sense of identity. Until, that is, she turned eighteen and was suddenly free to do . . . anything.

And now she was on the run with a rogue agent of some shadowy US military faction, which was behind her mother's death, tried to kill her father, and was now attempting to kill her and the man she was falling for.

Tidus seemed to be choosing his next words carefully. "There's a chance," he said quietly, "that they might . . . torture you for information about me. I don't know that they will, but at this point we can't rule anything out. Just be prepared for it, as much as you can."

She nodded stiffly, unable to say anything in reply. There was little she would be able to give up, ultimately, if it came down to that. She could tell them how he likes his coffee, and that he paces when deep in thought, or nervous, and how his whole face transforms when he smiles. She could describe the way he talks and moans in his sleep, replaying past missions over and over again while she lies in the dark and listens, knowing he won't remember them in the morning. And that he has the gentlest hands in the entire world, even if they are equally capable of inflicting terrible damage.

He searched her face for a moment before crossing over to the bed and gracefully crawling on top of her. She lay back down compliantly, savouring the warm comfort of his weight. Their lips met softly, deliberately, before he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers.

"Thank you," he murmured. "For everything."

Another wave of tears sprang up automatically as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She had not thought it was possible for her to cry any more, but she was so, so wrong. "_À__ bientôt, cher_."

His eyes poured such longing into hers. "You're all that matters to me, you know that? More than my memories, my past, everything. And when this is all over, for better or worse, I swear I'll come find you."

She could only nod wordlessly against him, and with one final kiss, he reluctantly slid away from her. Curling onto her side, she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch him go. It was too soon. It was too soon, too dangerous, and it wasn't fucking _fair_.

She heard him pause at the door, stumbling over his words like cracks in the sidewalk. "I know it's impossible – ridiculous even, probably, but I might never get another chance to say this. So . . . screw it. I love you."

Her eyes flew open, but she stayed perfectly still. He had said it so quickly, almost like it was all one word. _Iloveyou._

He hovered in the doorway for another half second before swiftly departing. Then she remembered herself and sat bolt upright on the bed, just in time to see the door closing behind him, and she listened, paralyzed, as his footsteps faded down the hall.

000

The team barely landed in Zurich and pulled up a block away from the Opernhaus before Seymour was barking orders, shouting instructions left and right. He was outfitted with a bullet proof vest, a wire, and a set of handguns – which he knew, they _all_ knew, was a bad idea, but the idea of going in to meet with a highly-trained rogue operative without any kind of protection seemed like an even worse idea.

To anyone who didn't know him better, Seymour was his usual self. Irritable and impatient, but somehow radiating a seasoned calm about what could potentially be a colossal disaster. He had been doing this longer than most of the others, barring Lynwood perhaps, and though he had been relegated to the office in his later years, there was no one else who seemed qualified for this kind of drop.

_Qualified_, Rikku mused as she walked alongside her boss,_ seems like a very stingy word_. It was amazing how mechanically she moved, navigating through the efficient swarm of activity with bodily awareness alone while her mind drifted elsewhere. People rushed to and fro to set up surveillance behind a conspicuous semicircle of boxy white vans parked at one end of the alley in which they'd chosen to set up shop. They would disperse eventually, but for now they served as a barricade against the curious eyes of pedestrians walking by the mouth of the alley. Plain-clothed agents had already been sent to take up their positions in the Opernhaus, having gone over the building's schematics on the jet. Nearby, a strike team was being briefed to stand by as a fallback, and elsewhere snipers had scattered to find various vantage points up and down the street.

Rikku had never been to Europe before, and never imagined her first trip would be under these circumstances. This wasn't the time for shopping or sightseeing, though from their position down the street she could faintly make out the stone angels atop of the arched roof of the Opernhaus. It was doubtful she was going to get much closer for a better look, though.

Rikku was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she did not realize he was speaking to her until her growled her name a second time.

"Welsh, pull your head out of the fucking clouds, will you? This is important, I need you to focus."

Shaking herself a little, she cleared her throat and stood up a little straighter. "Sorry sir. What do you need me to do?"

"Attend to Feltham," he instructed brusquely, buttoning up his shirt over the Kevlar vest. The jerk of his chin indicated Joshua, standing not ten yards away and apparently in deep conversation with another tech analyst. "Do whatever he says, unless it's something really stupid." 

"And what do I do then, sir?"

"What?"

"If he tells me to do something really stupid."

He stared at her pointedly. "Ignore him."

"Ah."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he turned his head to give her a more sidelong look. "If these concepts are too novel for you, I'd be more than happy to ship your ass back States-side."

Forcing a benign smile, Rikku took the liberty of reaching out to straighten his tie, which he had apparently given up on some time ago. "Your faith in me is very flattering sir."

Grunting, he nevertheless spared her a response and merely tilted his head back to give her better access. After a moment of unusually companionable silence, he quietly said, "My wife use to do this for me. Ex-wife, I mean. The most recent one."

"Let me guess," Rikku replied knowingly. "Your dad left when you were a kid, you never knew your grandfather, you're not particularly close with any uncles or male relatives, and none of your mom's string of lousy, parasitic boyfriends ever showed you how to dress up properly for a special event."

He snorted a little. "Goddamn psychoanalysts. I hate getting profiled, just so you know."

Finishing, Rikku stepped back to survey her work. Being raised by a single father who owned an auto body repair shop and a brother that never mentally matured past the age of seventeen had equipped her with more than her fair share of glimpses into the cloistered world of men. Ties were nothing but child's play.

"How do I look?" Seymour asked, only somewhat sarcastically.

"Like you're wearing a bulky bullet-proof vest under your wrinkled dress shirt. The tie looks good though."

He leered at her, but not with any real spite. Then, shrugging into a blazer, he and stalked off to get fitted for a transmitter that would record any conversation he might have with Raines.

"Sir," Rikku called out impulsively.

He stopped and glanced back at her impatiently.

"When you're talking with him in there," she began, not needing to elaborate on who she talking about. "Just . . . keep your cool. Stay calm. If you snap, or yell, or do anything to put him on the offensive, you'll virtually eliminate any chance we have at detaining him." _And increase the likelihood of having to kill him_. "Agents like him are at their best when they're running scared. Remember that, okay?"

For a moment he just regarded her silently. Then, to her surprise, he nodded, turned around, and continued walking without a backwards glance.

Rikku watched him go, and didn't realize she was tightly hugging herself until her shoulders started to ache.


	21. Chapter 21

Another late update, with sincere apologies and a plea for forgiveness! I had to work two jobs this summer and had almost zero time/energy for writing. Hopefully now that the action is starting I will be motivated to churn out more chapters at a faster pace.

Enjoy!

000

**Chapter 21**

This was actually his second time in Zurich.

The sudden recollection gave Seymour some pause – a hesitation in his otherwise decisive stride which, admittedly, few noticed – and for a moment he was twenty-eight years old again and on his first honeymoon. He had been so consumed by the mission that any personal associations with the city had been firmly shoved to the back of his mind.

Why Lydia had wanted to come to Zurich was beyond him, frankly. She was usually the traditional type, and he'd figured she would want to go somewhere hot and tropical, like Hawaii or the Bahamas. But no, she wanted to go some place . . . classy. Modern. _Expensive as hell_. Not surprisingly, he had been miserable for most of it, and consequently so was she. The sex, as minimally inclined as they felt to engage in it, had been at its worst ever, and they hadn't been all that compatible in bed to begin with. She ignored that one little detail in favour of his sizeable paycheck (and impending pension), and he in turn focused on using her father's connections in the U.S. government to secure his upward mobility. They must have thought that a sexless marriage – or even one where it just wasn't that great – could survive. Lydia's parents had managed it for decades, hadn't they? _And look how fucking happy those two are._

Blinking, he looked up and realized that he had made it all the way through the front doors of the Opernhaus. A few of his men were already in place, dotted here and there throughout the crowd as patrons filed towards the auditorium. The air was a monotone hum of conversation and polite elevator music, easily reduced to little more than white noise. Seymour shook himself a little and swept the gleaming marble lobby with a narrowed gaze, knowing already that he wasn't going to see that shock of ridiculous blond hair anywhere. That Raines hadn't done the smart thing and cut it all off, or at least dyed it a more neutral colour, irked Seymour. Agents were trained to be invisible, forgettable, unnoticed. Even one who had gone rogue would feel compelled to follow that one, simple little rule. Well, good-looking as he was, Raines probably had a hard time being 'forgettable', but still. Some semblance of vanity and pride, maybe? Defiance? Neither would come as a surprise.

There were other agents in place, scattered here and there and doing their best to look as inconspicuous as possible. One by one they met his passing gaze and, wisely, refrained from responding to him. Raines could be anywhere and have eyes at any location, and if he didn't already know who was tracking him – which he probably did, Seymour acknowledged with a scowl – even the subtlest nod or lingering look would be a dead giveaway.

He angled himself towards the east wall and made his way to a small fire extinguisher hanging near a lavish floral arrangement. Looking like he had every right in the world to do so, Seymour reached under the red metal cylinder and, sure enough, retrieved the ticket that had been taped in place, one of the two Raines had purchased earlier to flag down SIN's satellite. He glanced down at his seat number and grimaced; right in the middle of the goddamn audience. Figures.

It was only by sheer coincidence that a side door marked Staff Only happened to open just to his right at that moment, revealing a glimpse into the Opernhaus' east wing. Looking up, Seymour's jaw clenched at the sight of white plastic hanging from the ceiling and coating the floor, the glare of industrial lights and sudden sharp smell of plaster. The door was only open for a second as a construction worker made a hasty exit through another door leading downstairs, where Seymour heard the distinct noise of power tools.

How the hell had they missed this?

_Clever little shit, aren't you Raines. _

"Be advised," he hissed into a hidden transmitter hidden, speaking through gritted teeth, "the east wing and lower levels are being remodeled. Maintain visual – fuck, _double_ visual and ready a backup unit."

"Copy that," somebody replied on the other end.

"And if things go south, keep the local PD out of this for as long as possible. I don't want to add a bunch of dead cops to Raines' rap sheet, got it?" _It looks bad for PR._

"Understood, sir."

Rubbing his face with an agitated hand, Seymour did one last sweep of the lobby before resigning himself to get on with this and headed towards the auditorium. In any other situation but this he could probably take the time to look around admiringly. Run a hand along the red velvet seats, bask in the warm yellow glow of the massive chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling. The semi-circular shape of the room, along with the polished hardwood finishing carried sound like a rippling ocean, making the orchestra warming up below the stage sound as if their music was emerging from the back walls.

_Lydia would love this,_ Seymour thought absently, forcing his way through the crowd toward his seat. _I should call and tell her about it. Maybe she'll drag Phil along too_. The idea almost made him smirk. Her second husband (or was it third? He could never remember) had the cultural pizzazz of a mac truck, for all his millions.

The second he sat down, he felt something hard jut up against his lower back, poking out of the back of his seat cushion. Frowning, he reached down and extracted a small disposable cell phone.

It rang before he had a chance to fully register it.

"Shit," he muttered, before clicking it on and pressing it to his ear. "I was hoping to do this face to face, Raines."

The agent's voice on the other end was mostly flat, but carried an unmistakable trace of smugness. "Sorry, couldn't take that chance."

A few patrons turned to give Seymour variously displeased looks, since the show was about to start and almost everyone else had put away their phones, but he ignored them. "Where's the file?"

"Scattered around the city, divided into ten sections," Raines replied with equal alacrity. "I'll be a team player and tell you where the first one is – you'll need it to get directions to the second one, which will lead you to the third, then the fourth, and so on."

Seymour clenched his jaws for a moment and wished he knew how to patch in the cell phone to his transmitter so that the rest of the crew could hear what was going on.

"And while you're busy recovering them," Raines went on, "Yuna and I are to take our leave and go free. Forever. Her name gets cleared, and my identity is to be wiped from every record you've got on me. You don't track, trail, monitor, or come after us ever again, is that understood?"

"Uh huh," Seymour grunted, "but tell me something son, what exactly is stopping us from playing cat and mouse with you once we're done collecting the file? 'Cause you know I can't just let you walk away from this, not with the kind of shit we've got on each other."

Right away he realized that Raines had been waiting for him to ask that. "Because," he answered smoothly, "I decided to join the 21st century and uploaded a digital copy onto a laptop. It's on a timed relay, so unless I enter a 9 digit code every three hours, it will send out the file in a viral e-mail and make it public to the world – including every major news organization across the UK and the US. That's why."

Seymour felt himself growing colder with each passing second. "Right," he heard himself mumble. "And, ah, when exactly did you find the time to steal a laptop, upload a fifty-something page document, and then stash the real file in ten different locations around an unfamiliar city?"

"I didn't steal anything, thanks to the money from the safety deposit box. And I work quickly. But I'd get to work if I were you; clock's ticking, Seymour. You'll find the first section behind a dumpster in the alley across the street."

"Wait, just wait." Licking his lips, Seymour shifted in his seat and glanced around with what could almost pass for nervousness. "Be honest with me, Raines – what do you want? I mean, really. This whole amnesia thing . . ."

"What I want is to be left alone," Raines snapped, showing the first true hint of emotion. "Was that not clear enough? I'm not who I was, and I have no desire to be ever again, and I sure as hell don't want to die for you. I want Yuna to be safe, and happy, and free to live her life as she pleases – God willing, with me in it. I want to never have to look over my shoulder again, or worry about talking on the phone, or if any cameras are on me, or if I'm gonna have fucking _assassins_ waiting for me around every corner."

For a long time Seymour was silent. Then, quietly, "I wish it was that easy, kid. I really do."

The lights began to dim and a hush swept over the audience.

"Show's starting, Seymour."

There was a click, followed by a tell-tale dial tone on the other end. Seymour slowly lowered the phone from his end and shut it off. "Yeah," he murmured. "I guess it is."

After another long pause, in which the opening act began, he rose to his feet and made his way towards the nearest exit to the lobby. "I want eyes on every possible exit," he said into his transmitter. "Raines is somewhere in this building, and he is _not_ leaving."

000

"We've got her!"

Rikku's head snapped up from scanning maps of the city like a slingshot. "What?"

Joshua, who had been standing just outside the van coordinating a strike team, scrambled inside with almost comical speed. "Say again?"

The tech analyst across the van from her glanced over his shoulder. "Savard's staying at the Scheulinger motel on Latsbourg – security cam across the street caught her and Raines checking in last night and she hasn't left since."

"Great work," Joshua said breathlessly, clapping the young man on the shoulder. "Rikku, stay here and keep an eye on –"

"Uh, well, shouldn't I, ah, go with you?" she said quickly, rising to her feet without even realizing it. _Shit, shit, shit_.

Joshua blinked at her. "Why?"

"Well, from a psychological point of view, it makes sense," she rushed to explain. "She's gonna be surrounded by men, they're gonna be shoving her around, pushing and pulling and shouting at her – it'll be really traumatic! If there's another woman there, one closer to her age, she'll feel more comfortable. I pretend like I'm on her side, looking out for her – good cop, you know? – and maybe, if she decides to talk, she'll talk to me. Maybe if she trusts me I can convince her that spilling her guts is the best thing for her."

The tech analyst exchanged looks with Joshua. "Sounds reasonable enough to me," he ventured.

Joshua nodded. "All right, find yourself a gun and stand by." Pointing to the analyst, "You – upload coordinates to my PDA and tell everybody to get on point. We move in five, got it?"

"Yes sir."

Feeling somewhat dazed, Rikku climbed out of the van and went to locate her handgun. She was qualified to carry and fire a sidearm, but this was her first field mission and as such she had no prior cause to use it. Half the time she left it with her other personal effects, seldom feeling the need or desire to keep it nearby. She fiercely hoped today would be no exception, but Auron had been adamant that she do any and everything in her power to keep Yuna safe.

The ride to the motel was . . . quiet. Not tense, but focused. Joshua had retreated into himself, showing none of the bright-eyed, childlike enthusiasm he had displayed before. After briefing the extraction team, he busied himself by going over the building's schematics with relentless precision, committing every detail to memory. Rikku's eyes kept darting towards him, wondering if she would be able to think fast enough to outmaneuver him. If she was caught or even suspected of helping Yuna escape, she had fewer and fewer doubts that he would have any trouble shooting her on sight. And who would fault him for that? SIN had no qualms about dealing with leaks and traitors. It was in the nature of their business, all so that their own betrayals could be contained – betrayals against their country, their own citizens, allies, innocents . . .

She closed her eyes to keep them still. She needed to think hard and fast. _Just get Yuna alone. Let them take her into custody if you have to, but no matter what it takes, get her alone –_

"There it is."

Joshua's voice startled her back into the present. She peered out the window just as the van, followed by two others teeming with black op agents, came to a near-screeching halt at the curb. The doors flew open almost before the wheels stopped turning, and before she knew it, Rikku found herself swept outside along a current of agents. With Joshua in the lead, his glock already out and held at the ready, she didn't have time to think anymore. Wordless, tight-lipped and pale, she followed close behind him as he jogged up the metal stairs to the second floor.

"Bravo Team in position, standing by," a voice crackled over the radio. "Rear exit covered."

"Copy that," Joshua whispered, moving to stand near the door to room 213. He glanced to Rikku, who read the cue and positioned herself on the other side of the door, fighting to keep her hands steady. She saw him take a few fortifying breaths, and subconsciously held her own when he suddenly sprang forward and shouldered the door open with a bang.


End file.
